


Fated

by jaydenthorne



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Charmie - Fandom, Dune (2020), Dune - All Media Types, Dune Series - Frank Herbert, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Armie Hammer as Stevens, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Charmie, Dune crossover, Dune spoilers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Prostate Massage, Slow Burn, Timothée Chalamet as Paul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydenthorne/pseuds/jaydenthorne
Summary: Paul and Stevens are on opposites sides of the struggle over Arrakis. Paul has plans to avenge the betrayal of his family. Stevens has orders to fight the Fremen rebels. For good or ill, fate throws them together.(Slow burn fic with angst to spare. Enemies to friends to lovers.)
Relationships: Paul Atreides/OC Mike Stevens, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 110
Kudos: 74





	1. Disturbances in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a Dune/Mine crossover inspired by this [lovely video](https://youtu.be/QRFpSj7nC_I) created by [@universecorcordium](https://universecorcordium.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. 
> 
> Check out my multi-fandom blog on tumblr [@jaydenthorne](https://jaydenthorne.tumblr.com/) and Instagram @jaydenthorne73.

_Arrakis._

_Desert planet._

_Deep into the night._

_Shai-hulud was on the move. He sensed the rhythmic pattern of humans walking across the great expanse of sand that was his domain. He was still several miles away, but the slight tremors reverberated along his scales, calling him towards the careless humans. They would not survive the night._

Paul awoke with a start, his breath coming in gasps. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. The sensation of coarse sand on his skin still clung to him. Several minutes passed before he was in control of his senses again. It wasn’t often he dreamt of a Great Maker; but when he did, becoming Shai-hulud always took a toll.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, Paul threw a quick glance at Chani. The low illumination of the glowglobe cast her in a soft amber light as she lay on the bed next to him. She had not stirred. It both pained and comforted Paul that Chani was no longer disturbed by his frequent restless nights.

Paul gingerly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Chani, and made his way to the small room which he used for meditation. He needed to sort out the vision in his dream and place it in the correct timeline.

****

Stevens paused just long enough to take a swig from his canteen. The water, though warm, was a welcomed relief. The sun had gone down less than an hour ago, so the desert was still scorching. He hung the canteen from his belt, replaced his moisture mask, and got moving again. He certainly didn’t want the lieutenant to get on his ass about breaking formation.

Four Sardaukar squads of six men each moved silently along the desert. They had just breached Fremen territory. As expected, they had so far gone undetected in the night. There were still many miles to go - a couple of days march - before reaching their destination. This time it was a sietch suspected of sheltering a number of Fremen rebels.

Unlike most of his squad mates, Stevens had been wary of this mission from the start. Being deployed so far from their target in such hostile territory and having to traverse the open desert of Arrakis seemed too much of a risk. Sure, the Fremen were known to do it with ease. They knew the ways of the desert. For outworlders, however, these kinds of outings were fraught with perils unknown. Stevens had voiced his reservations to his superiors, but his concerns had been dismissed offhand. Though he was a veteran of over two dozen battles in nearly as many worlds, he simply wasn’t high ranking enough for his opinion to matter much. 

It wasn’t the mission itself that was a problem for Stevens. Dispatching Fremen wasn’t the issue at all. It was this desolate deathtrap of a planet itself that had Stevens on edge. He was no stranger to harsh conditions, of course. All Sardaukar were intimately acquainted with miserable environments. They were born of misery, hardened by it. Arrakis, however, was exceptionally awful. For starters, the ruling house of Harkonnen was treacherous and deplorable. Worst still, the natives were ornery at the best of times and down right deadly warriors at the worst.

And to add insult to injury, the Sardaukar - the most elite and deadly military force in the known universe, the Padishah Emperor’s own soldiers - had to go about disguised as Harkonnen forces. The indignity! And all for what? So the Emperor’s involvement in the fall of House Atreides could remain a secret? That whole mess made the bile rise in Stevens’ throat.

If the heat, the sand, the Harkonnens and the Fremen weren’t bad enough, there were the stories of the sandworms that made their way through the barracks. The fearsome giants that roamed the desert. Stevens had heard about them being able to take down entire harvesters. He was sure he’d rather face down a hundred wild Fremen savages alone than run into one of those beasts.

****

Paul knocked on the door of Stilgar’s yali. It was late into the night and the Naib had to be asleep, but Paul knew this couldn’t wait until dawnbreak and hoped the intrusion would be justified.

Tharthar, Stilgar’s wife, answered the door, her eyes half-shut. She yawned loudly before focusing on Paul. “Muad'Dib? It is so late. This better be good,” she said, feigning irritation. She liked Paul, as most inhabitants of Sietch Tabr did, but she was especially fond of the boy. Over the past year, he had proven himself to be strong, loyal and dependable and a true ally of the Fremen. So much so, that many in the sietch no longer thought of him and his mother as outworlders or even Atreides. 

“My apologies,” Paul responded with an amused but contrite smile, “I need to speak with Stilgar. It is important.”

“When is it ever not important,” Tharthar responded and stepped aside to let Paul enter. Stilgar had already left the sleeping chamber and was in the common room. He too was accustomed to Paul’s less than peaceful sleep patterns.

“What is so urgent as to disturb the night, my friend?” Stilgar asked and gestured for Paul to take a seat.

Paul stepped further into the common room, but declined the invitation to sit down. “Harkonnen,” he declared and watched Stilgar’s blue within blue eyes widen. “Four squads are on their way here.”

Stilgar knew better than to ask how Paul knew of this. The boy’s gift of prescience was the most powerful the Naib had ever encountered. Even if he didn’t understand how such a thing was possible, he accepted it.

“Then we will take the treacherous dogs’ water,” Stilgar responded.

Paul shook his head minutely. “The desert will claim their water. A Great Maker hunts them. One will survive, however. We must get him.”

Stilgar’s thick eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Why? What does one Harkonnen dog matter to us. We can just leave him to die on the sands.”

“This man is…” Paul hesitated. He really didn't know how to explain it. The vision shown to him in his dream had not been complete. All he was certain of at this point was that the man would be significant to him somehow. “This man will be useful to us and our plans in the future. If we leave him to die, we risk failure. It’s all I can tell you right now. Believe me, my friend, I wouldn’t put any Fremen life at risk for the sake of one Harkonnen if it wasn’t important.”

Stilgar considered Paul’s words and nodded once. He knew Paul’s commitment to the Fremen was sincere. “Very well,” he finally said, “Let’s go get the bastard.”

****

It was, by far, the most spectacular and monstrous thing Stevens had ever seen. What had started as a peculiar spec on the darkened horizon had quickly turned into a nightmare. The sandworm overtook the Sardaukar squads with a speed and ferocity that was impossible to conceive. Stevens himself had never actually seen a sandworm. When the leviathan rose above the sands, impossibly huge, the hardened warrior was momentarily dumbstruck. 

“Move, move, move!!” the lieutenant yelled out to his men, though his voice was mostly drowned out by the sandworm’s ghastly roar. He pointed towards the only rock outcropping visible. “To the rocks. Run to the rocks! Move!”

Stevens’ instincts kicked in, snapping him from his stupor, and he made a mad sprint for the rock outcropping. They weren’t going to make it. He knew. There was no way they could out run that thing. Not even if each step wasn’t slowed by the loose sand of the desert, there was no out running that monster. 

The sandworm dove back into the sand over the thickest concentration of men, swallowing them up as if they were nothing. They were nothing to him. Screams rang out in the night, but they were short-lived.

Stevens felt the force of the sandworm’s impact on the ground as if it were a stone burner atomic going off behind him. It burned almost as hot, too. His body was lifted and propelled through the air, throwing him more than 50 yards. He only came to a stop as he crashed against the rocks. The air was painfully knocked out of his chest on impact. He gasped reflexively. The wall of sand that followed nearly blinded him.

Through fading senses, Stevens perceived the decimation of his men, his brothers. He would follow them into oblivion, he had no doubt. For now, sweet unconsciousness overtook him and he blacked out.


	2. Sandworms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevens wake up after the sandworm attack. Paul is conflicted but determined to find the stranded man.

The sun beat down on the Arrakian desert without mercy, and it was only about three hours into its journey across the sky. Even though he lay on the rocks still unconscious, the heat was so intense, a vague awareness of it made its way through Stevens’ consciousness. A general sense of imminent peril finally brought the soldier around. He opened his eyes slowly, initially blinded by the intense light. He groaned, feeling the grit of sand in the corners of his eyes. A few irritating blinks later and the world began to come into stark focus.

He was laying as he’d been thrown, face down on the edge of the rock outcropping. Very slowly and carefully, Stevens moved various parts of his body. Checking for injuries. Fingers, hands and arms first. Feet, ankles and legs next. There was pain, but at least his limbs weren’t broken. Next was the most dangerous, his head and neck. He obviously wasn’t paralyzed, but one wrong move of his neck and that could change. He turned his head carefully, so far so good. He sat up, pushing himself up until he sat back on his calves. Sand cascaded off his body as he moved. He was alive and he was whole, if roughed up and sore.

Stevens stripped out of the Harkonnen uniform and began to inspect the damage to his stillsuit. It was ripped in several places. The moisture mask had saved him from a broken nose; but it was cracked, rendering it ineffective. He ripped it off his face and took a breath of unfiltered dry air. There were several damp spots where he’d been laying. Some catchpockets in his suit had clearly ruptured. He sighed dejectedly as the damp spots quickly dried in the hot sun. He’d have water for at least today. But with the stillsuit ripped and damaged, he wouldn’t be able to replenish the precious liquid. The Choam Company suits weren’t as efficient at reclaiming the body’s lost moisture as the Fremen made ones, but it was better than nothing out here in this hellscape. Now, he didn’t even have that. 

Stevens removed his backpack, grunting as sore muscles protested his movements, and set it aside. He looked around the desolate landscape. By some ridiculous stroke of luck he had landed at the very base of the rock outcropping. Safe from the sandworm. Well, luck was a relative term since he had limited water and supplies. He could see the depression in the sand where the worm had attacked. He could also see what was left of the other Sardaukar soldiers. Pieces of equipment and bodies littered the sand. Actually there was very little to see as the sandworm swallowed much of the evidence that they had ever existed. 

“Fuck this planet…” Stevens mumbled to himself, his voice hoarse and cracking. He was alive and whole, yes, but that seemed to matter less and less by the minute.

****

The small band of Fremen set off from Sietch Tabr just before dawn. Paul was in command, even though Stilgar was with them. It was Paul’s idea and his plan, so he got the lead. Chani, Fash and Larus made up the rest of the band. Paul had decided the best way to start would be to go via the underground network of tunnels extending out from the sietch. It certainly was more convenient to travel through the tunnels to avoid the sun and other desert dangers, but also because this was a highly questionable endeavor and the fewer people that knew about it for now the better. Whenever the Naib left the sietch it would always cause a stir in the tribe. That was the opposite of what Paul wanted. He didn’t even consult with his mother on this one. Paul had no doubt that going after this man was on the right course. 

They took the tunnels as far as they could before needing to surface. They came up to a ravine between two rock mountain formations. This pass would take them at least another two miles towards their destination. Sheltered from the worst of the sun and Makers, the band moved silently, single-file with the Fremen irregular manner which had already become second nature to Paul.

Paul was not entirely familiar with the area they were headed towards and had to rely heavily on the dream vision. Such a troubling and persistent vision it had been. Why would this one Harkonnen soldier matter at all? Even more troubling was the veil that still shrouded the future events that man would influence. Paul knew he would be important; he could feel it in his bones. But in what way he would be important, was still a mystery. It bothered Paul. His gift of prescience wasn’t usually this fickle. He had been tempted to take spice and force the vision, but that could put him out for days, and he didn’t have that kind of time. Or rather, the man stranded in the desert didn’t.

“The area you described,” Chani spoke quietly so only Paul could hear. She had come up alongside and he had not even noticed her. “It is a favorite for Makers.” 

Paul nodded solemnly. He knew the dangers. Stilgar had warned him in the same way when he had proposed the route they take. 

“It’ll be easy to call a Maker then” Paul finally responded with a crooked smile to Chani. She smirked and bumped him with her skinny shoulder. It made Paul chuckle, the sound carrying in the ravine between the rocky walls. Stilgar threw an annoyed glance at the pair which quieted the young ones down. They were still in their own territory, but they could never be too careful. The desert was good at taking those who let their guard down. 

A few hours later, they were finally nearing the edge of the rocky pass. The open desert would stretch out before them in all its severe beauty. If they had to walk it to reach the stranded man, it would easily take at least two days. Thankfully, the Fremen had a more efficient way to traverse the desert, even if it was a horrendously dangerous way to travel. 

****

The sun had become even more unforgiving. The urge to take a drink - just a little drink - of water was nearly overwhelming. Stevens was too well trained as a Sardaukar to give in to an urge so easily. He had to get his bearings, take stock, and formulate a plan to get out of here.

As he explored the rock outcrop, Stevens found a spot with a small overhang. The shade it provided was minuscule, but it was better than nothing. He grinned to himself for a moment, dry lips stretching painfully. Water would help tremendously with that, he thought, then promptly dismissed the thought. Instead, he began the process of taking stock of his supplies. 

The lasgun had been ripped out of his hands in the initial sandworm attack; but at least, he still had his backpack, his combat knife and the canteen which was about three quarters full. He laid out the contents of the backpack and looked over his small cache. There was a stillsuit repair kit, four days food rations, medical kit, paracompass, fire starter kit and a portable, field glowglobe. He had no stilltent, which was bad, but the stillsuit repair kit was beyond a blessing. 

Two hours later, Stevens had done the best he could to mend his stillsuit. He managed to repair the worst of the tears, but there remained three catchpockets that couldn’t be fixed. After taking a few small sips from the tube at the neck of the suit, he emptied what was left of the reclaimed water into the canteen, filling it. Stevens was more or less pleased with his work on the stillsuit. Little did he know that without the moisture mask, nostril plugs and with the remaining damage, his suit was only functioning at about a quarter efficiency. As an outworlder, Stevens had no knowledge of Fremen stillsuit discipline and his desert survival training had been rudimentary. It would be a miracle if he survived this ordeal.

****

_Shai-hulud was still now. Resting comfortably under the sands. It was cool and dark, but he was not undisturbed. He felt tiny tremors pass over his scales. Not as many and persistent as before, but enough to be noticed. From the dampened, frail tremors he knew his prey was not on the sand, but on the rocks above. Out of reach. He had time._

Paul leaned, slumped against the rock face wall. Chani’s soft voice made its way through his turbulent mind. 

“Usul... Usul...” Chani called gently but insistently. Slowly, Paul came back to himself. Eyes opening to Chani’s blue within blue eyes staring at him with concern.

Paul blinked back the tethers of his vision. “I’m here, Chani,” he replied in a mumble. He straightened up while she held onto his arm to steady him. 

“What did you see?” Stilgar asked cautiously. Fash and Larus stood apart, keeping a lookout. They were loyal and trusted, but they were not as accustomed to Paul’s black-out episodes. His “powers” filled them with both awe and trepidation. 

“Not much, actually,” Paul replied and cleared his throat. He removed the moisture mask for a moment and rubbed the indentations it made on his face. “It’s the present or very near future. Not exactly sure which. The Great Maker is still in the area and so is the man. I think it might be waiting him out?” Paul looked up at Stilgar questioningly. “How… cognizant… are these creatures?”

Stilgar snorted. “They are territorial and ill-tempered, Muad'Dib. Unless something else catches his interest, the Maker will remain.” 

Stilgar threw a glance at Fash and Larus and nodded his head once. The two men proceeded with the next task without further prompting. 

“If you’re ready, Muad’Dib, we should move out,” Stilgar said and didn’t wait for an answer.

Paul looked at Chani, who was looking much less worried. “We go,” he said with a gentle tap to her cheek. They both replaced their masks and moved out.

****

After devouring one of the ration protein bars and taking another small sip of water from the canteen, Stevens packed up the backpack. He had to move out. The longer he stayed out here, the lower his chances for survival. He already had trouble focusing, and the thirst was maddening.

Using the paracompass, Stevens plotted a rough course for the city of Arrakeen. He had no map; the lieutenant had had that. Arrakeen was north, though, so that’s the direction in which he would go. With any luck, he might be picked up by Sardaukar or Harkonnen forces on the way.

He climbed down from the rocks, all six feet and five inches of him landing heavily on the sand. He walked past the carnage that had once been his troop, keeping an eye out for anything useful. A lasgun would be fantastic. As he kicked over a piece of ripped plasteel, Stevens felt a rumbling under his feet. Before he could make sense of anything, the giant sandworm burst out from under the desert. 

Stevens was knocked back on his ass. Pillars of sand rained down from the body of the great beast as it nearly blotted out the sky. Being full daylight now, Stevens got a much better look at the monster. What looked to be dark gray/brown scales covered its enormous body. The mouth, though. The mouth full of thousands of sword-like teeth was the real horror. The sandworm was less than 500 hundred feet away from him, and already closing the distance. He scuttled backwards, for the second time in as many days feeling utterly helpless and truly afraid. Feelings he had not known since he was a boy growing up in Salusa Secundus.

The rocks.

He had to get back on the rocks.

_MOVE YOUR ASS! MOVE YOUR ASS MOVE YOUR ASS!_ he thought with the last bit of rational sense he had left.

In one motion, Stevens turned as he rose back onto his feet. He ran for the rock outcropping like a man possessed. He leapt the last few feet, landing on solid rock and immediately crumbling to his knees, arms over his head protectively. He was covered in sand as the worm skirted past the rock formation a few seconds later. A wave of intense heat washed over him. His entire body, in fact, seemed to be roasting inside the stillsuit. The air crackled with static electricity and smelled faintly of cinnamon. Stevens was left huddled on his knees, trembling and - much to his chagrin - sobbing. 

****

Fash walked out about seventy yards away from the rest of the band. He was a young Fremen of about twenty, short in stature, but highly skilled. He drove the thumper deep into a patch of hard sand. He looked back to make sure the others had taken their positions, then released the catch on the thumper, starting its rhythmic pounding. He quickly ran back to a safe distance. It would be his job to shut off and retrieve the thumper once a worm was sighted. A few yards away, Larus waited. He would take the lead on this ride.

Paul waited anxiously with Chani and Stilgar. He had ridden a worm before, but never called one or taken lead in driving one. That took skills he did not yet possess. And nerves he did not seem to have today, either. He was unusually tense and wasn’t sure why. The dream vision perhaps? The shroud of mystery around it? That shouldn’t be. Not with him. Not if his mother was right about him being the “one who could be many places at once”. It all seemed wrong to him somehow. Still, he was compelled to rescue that idiot Harkonnen. 

Paul held on to the Marker hooks in a tight grip, almost vibrating with anticipation. Only Chani’s light touch on his forearm made him loosen up. 

“Sihaya,” Paul whispered to Chani; his private name for her. He relaxed as his anxiety lessened. He could tell she was smiling under the mask from the crinkles around her eyes. She had been his primary teacher in his integration with the Fremen, and wasn’t above teasing him when he was hesitant. Today, though, she was sweet and he loved her for it. 

The tender moment was interrupted by Larus yelling, “Wormsign!”

As the Maker approached the scent of spice filled the air and the desert became hotter. The next minutes went by in a sort of blur for Paul. Larus was first on the sandworm. Hooking on and climbing up its side, lifting scales and exposing flesh, to make it roll and go where he wanted. Larus made the whole thing look easy. Paul knew better. It took years to master this skill. Even then, the dangers of riding a sandworm were always present.

Larus turned the worm towards them. As it neared, Stilgar, Chani and Paul ran alongside it. Then each hooked on and climbed up. Fash was the last to climb on board. They each took their place along the leviathan’s back. Paul came up behind Larus to navigate. Only then, did Paul Muad’Dib dare to breathe easy again. He smiled joyfully; genuinely pleased they were on their way. He was glad the moisture mask concealed this from the others because it would be hard to explain why he was happy about going to rescue an enemy.


	3. Encounter in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevens is learning just how harsh the desert can be to the uninitiated. Paul is confused by odd feelings that don't make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has taken a life of its own and wants to be an epic. Serves me right for writing about Dune. lol Sexy times are coming, though. I promise. :)

Another day was nearly over. The sun was low, casting a dazzling display of colors across the Arrakian sky. Stevens couldn’t care less about the savage beauty around him, though. He was alive, but trapped on the rocks that were now his prison. He was alive, but the unrelenting sun battered him without pity. He was alive, but hunger and thirst tormented him. He was alive, but the damned sandworm harassed him each time he tried to make an escape.

Unlike the first time, Stevens had been left conscious after the second worm attack. Conscious and terrified. The sheer size of the beast, the force it brought with it, the intended malice were all just shocking and appalling. Even after all the terrible things Stevens had witnessed and done as a Sardaukar soldier, the sandworm had left him overwhelmed with fear and tears. 

Was he broken now? Was he useless as a fighter? What was he if not Sardaukar?

Anxiety could be so seductive at times like these. Stevens knew that thoughts like those were dangerous, though. Doubt could kill him as easily as the damned worm. Still, his hand itched for the knife that could end this ordeal in one quick motion. 

_Stop it!_ he thought, _There’s a way out of this. I just have to find it._

In the dying light, he could see the mound where the sandworm had come to rest just under the surface of the desert floor. He stared hard at it, recalling his last escape attempts. Each time he set foot on the sand, the sandworm had reemerged from beneath, driving him back to the rocks. Breathless, he’d watch the beast make wide circles around the outcrop before submerging itself back down. It was clearly waiting him out and Stevens had to wonder just how intelligent that thing might actually be.

He’d have to think about that later. Now, he had to prepare to spend yet another night on his little rock prison. Once the heat of the day was exhausted, desert nights were cold and there was very little light left to work with. 

****

Paul had to fight entering into a vision trance several times during the ride. It seemed the closer they got to the stranded enemy fighter, the more insistent his prescience became. But he couldn’t risk going limp and falling off the sandworm. Out of love, either Chani or Stilgar or both would risk life and limb to help him, and that just wouldn’t be fair. He was with the Fremen now, he was expected to behave as one. A Fremen who couldn’t ride a sandworm on his own was worthy of nothing but shame.

Still, Paul had to wonder why these visions were so persistent and yet so shrouded. He was further confused by a sense of vague familiarity he felt for this man that he was certain was a total stranger to him. He needed to get to this man before he was killed, but didn’t know why. He felt the man would be important, but didn’t know in what way. It was both irritating and intriguing. 

“It’s time,” Larus yelled over his shoulder at the others, “Get ready!”

Paul snapped out of his musing and focused. They had gone as far as the young Maker would take them before becoming worn out. They would release it and continue the journey on foot. 

One by one, they climbed down the side of the Maker’s scaly body and dismounted with practiced calm. Except Paul, he was not calm. He felt strung tight as a wire, but managed the dismount without being crushed. Larus was the last one off. The small band watched silently as the Maker sank under the sands for a much needed rest. 

Paul put his Maker hooks away and pointed in the direction they were to go. “We’ll approach from the west,” he said, voice muffled by the moisture mask, “Better cover.”

“Fash, go east about half a mile,” Stilgar said, “and set the thumper on a candle timer. That should draw the Great Maker away if he’s still there.”

“He’s still there,” Paul assured with quiet certainty. It was unclear if he meant the Great Maker or the man.

Fash went on his way and the rest went on theirs. Fash knew where to meet up with them before night fell on them completely. 

Paul led the way and Chani fell into step beside him, with Stilgar and Larus behind them. Their irregular way of walking blended in with the natural sounds other desert creatures made and wouldn’t attract any Makers.

“The cover of night should make it easier to sneak up on the Harkonnen dog,” Chani said softly, “overwhelm him and take him prisoner.” She looked up at Paul, but he kept looking forward. “If that is what you wish, Usul.”

“It is,” Paul answered simply. He understood how much he was asking of the Fremen. How unusual and even unwise it was to come out here to rescue an enemy. How unheard of it was to take that enemy prisoner and bring him back to the sietch. These were not exactly the ways of the Fremen. Then again, he and his mother, Jessica, have pushed the Fremen out of their comfort zone many times since they arrived. And they will push them further still. He did not take for granted the trust these people had placed on the Atreides survivors, especially on him. 

“He will live as long as he is no threat to you, Usul,” Chani stated, unwavering in her determination. 

Paul considered Chani’s words. He knew she meant what she said. She was a fierce warrior in her own right, protective of her people and of him. Her protectiveness did grate on him at times. He was a capable fighter himself, after all. But he really couldn’t hold it against her. It was her way. It was the Fremen way. Besides, if he was mistaken about this man, it was good that Chani would have his back.

“You honor me, Sihaya, “ Paul said, turning his head to face her. “Your devotion means more to me than I can say. I don’t think this man will be a threat, though. He’s alone, after all. He will not be in fighting shape when we find him either. If he’s smart, he’ll be glad for the rescue and come without giving us a problem.”

They walked on in silence, each keeping any further thoughts to themselves.

****

Night had fallen and with it the temperature. The adrenaline that had sustained him during day’s harrowing events had worn off. Stevens could now feel all the damage days in the desert had done to his body. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen. His lips were cracked and had split open in the corners. His face itched and burned from the sun. His eyes stung from the sand. And for the first time it seemed like his mind was going. He’d swear he could hear voices in the wind. He was still lucid enough to understand he was hallucinating from dehydration. He did take more sips of water, but much too little. If he drank it all, his damaged stillsuit wouldn’t be able to reclaim all the water he took in.

He huddled closer to the small fire he’d made by burning the Harkonnen uniform. It wouldn’t last the whole night, but he had nothing else to burn. The small glowglobe provided a bit more illumination, but not much. It didn’t matter. He was exhausted. He would sleep. If he woke up in the morning, he would try his luck again. If he woke up.

Stevens sat propped up against the rock behind him and started to nod off. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep. His body hurt, though, and he could still hear… things... out there in the darkness. Was that the sound of sand shifting? Was the sandworm moving? No, it was nothing, he convinced himself. A long while passed and he finally began to relax. 

Then there was a clatter. Like metal hitting rock. 

Steven’s eyes shot open. He reached slowly for the knife at his side.

“Don’t do that,” came a soft voice from the darkness. “It will not do you any good.”

No, he was not imagining that. Stevens was on his feet in the blink of an eye. Training and experience kicking in, his aches and pains forgotten for the moment.

“Show yourself!” Stevens demanded in a hoarse, cracked voice. He did draw his knife and held it firmly in a defensive stance. He cursed the loss of his lasgun more than ever now.

Paul didn’t know which of his companions had made the noise, but was certain Stilgar would make them pay for giving away their presence later. The plan was ruined. Time for a different strategy.

Paul emerged from behind the rock ledge over Stevens. He simply stood there for a moment, illuminated by the light of a half-moon. 

_Damn Fremen,_ Stevens thought as he took in the robes on the stranger.

Paul paused long enough to allow the man startled man to settle down a bit. The fact he’d drawn his knife wasn’t unexpected, but he knew it wouldn’t be taken well by his companions. He had to trust them to do as he had asked. After a moment, Paul jumped down, landing about 10 feet away from the man. The small fire and glowglobe cast enough light so that Paul could see the man but not much detail. He did note the man was exceptionally tall. 

“Put the knife down. We’re not here to fight you,” Paul said as calmly as he could manage. He was tempted to use the Voice to subdue the man, but held off. That was a Bene Gesserit skill. If he used it and the man recognized it for what it was later, he might be giving his identity away as Lady Jessica’s son. Their continued safety hinged almost entirely on the Harkonnens believing him and his mother to be dead. The risk was too great. He took a step closer to the man, palms up before him, indicating he had no weapon and was not threatening. 

It was, perhaps, the worst possible outcome as Stevens saw it; to be found by a band of Fremen savages. He couldn’t see the others, but of course there had to be others. It was over. Stevens shifted his stance slightly, squaring off and shook his head. “Fremen don’t take prisoners,” he stated defiantly, “And you’ll get nothing from me.”

By that statement, Paul knew the man had made a decision. It took only a handful of seconds for the soldier to swivel the knife in his hand and bring it up to his own neck. Paul reacted swiftly, as he closed the distance between them in an instant and grabbed the man’s wrist. Even if he was weak from dehydration, the huge man was still strong. It took all of Paul’s strength to keep him from slicing his own neck open. 

Fash and Larus were not as fast as Paul, as they had yet to train in the Weirding Way, but sprung from the shadows and were soon on either side of the stranger. Each took an arm and tried to wrestle it behind the tall man’s back, while Paul struggled to get the knife out of his hand.

Paul applied pressure to either side of the man’s wrist, satisfied at the sharp intake of breath it caused in his opponent. The knife slipped from the man’s hand as it involuntarily opened. Suddenly, the angry soldier headbutted Paul with such force that it sent him reeling back. He was disoriented and tripped over a jagged edge on the rock. Stilgar moved quickly and placed himself between Paul and the enemy soldier. 

Throwing his whole body weight at the two men behind him, Stevens managed to knock Fash off him and weakened Larus’ stance. He grabbed Fash by the front of his robes, went down one knee, and pulled him forward over his shoulder, throwing him hard on his back against the rocks. All the air was knocked out of Fash's lungs, stunning him for a moment. Larus watched the show of strength, stupefied for a moment. He hadn’t expected his kind of strength from an outworlder already weakened by thirst and the harsh desert. Out of instinct, he reached for his crysknife.

“NO!” Paul yelled as he got to his feet. This couldn’t end in bloodshed.

Surprised, Stevens looked back at Paul only to be met by the broadside of Chani’s Maker hook as it struck him on the left temple. The big man went down, knocked out by the blow.

Chani casually strapped the Maker hook back in place. “He’s already more trouble than he’s worth,” she said with slight irritation, “Are you sure you want him alive?”

Paul nodded once as he came to stand next to the girl. “He lives… for now.”

He looked down at the unconscious man. That nagging and overwhelming sense of familiarity came over him again. Stronger than in his visions. He had only felt like this once before in his life. No, that couldn’t be it. He was getting his signals crossed or something. 

“We’ll camp here for the day,” Paul said. 

While Larus and Fash took charge of their prisoner, Paul busied himself with helping to set up camp. He needed to shake the troubling feelings that this stranger caused in him, and there was nothing better than work to help him do that.


	4. Impostors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Stevens speak and learn troubling details about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to sexy times. Here's a bit of angst between the boys to hold us over.

Paul sat quietly, practicing prana-bindu movements in his hands. Stevens lay on the floor of the stilltent, still unconscious from the blow Chani had dealt him. After they had erected camp, Fash and Larus had stripped their prisoner and gone over every inch of his stillsuit, belongings and body looking for other weapons or explosives. Nothing but the knife was found, but they couldn’t be too careful. They had decided to put him in Paul's stilltent; it was as good a place as any. Stilgar had suggested binding the man for safety and the others had agreed. However, upon volunteering to take watch, Paul had removed the bindings and had used his own robes to cover the man's nakedness. He was going on pure instinct as logically it made no sense to do any of that. It was a calculated risk but one he was unusually confident it was correct.

Once alone with the prisoner, Paul had just stared at him for a while. His visions had given him vague impressions of this man as an ally, someone close to him. Someone as close to him as Chani or Stilgar, or even as close as Duncan had been in his previous life. Closer still, perhaps. Now that he’d seen the man’s face, he was certain they had never met before now. So why the familiar feelings? It irked him tremendously that so much of that future was clouded and hidden from him.

Stevens’ eyes fluttered open slowly. All the aches and pains of his body flooded back into his consciousness with vibrant clarity. Thankfully, he wasn't burning up for once. In fact, the temperature seemed strangely comfortable. As his vision cleared, he looked around at his surroundings. He was inside a tent. A stilltent? He was lying down, covered in a thin, rough cloth and naked underneath. He grunted as he began to rise, annoyed at the pain in his head. The left side throbbed miserably.

“Don’t get up,” a soft voice spoke from behind him. 

Stevens turned his head sharply at the sound, and instantly regretted it as the world went for a spin. He held his head in his hand, groaning under his breath.

“You’re dehydrated and probably concussed,” Paul said, gently putting his hands down on his lap. “Your canteen is next to you. Drink the water.”

Stevens looked around himself and spotted the canteen. His backpack and knife were nowhere in sight, however. Where was his knife? 

He ventured another look at the Fremen behind him, turning to face him, much slower this time. The man was young, an adolescent by the looks of him. He wore a dark Fremen-made stillsuit, but the moisture mark and nose plugs were off. He sat cross-legged against the stilltent wall and quite out of Stevens' reach. He had a mop of brown hair that fell in messy waves around his face. He was thin, with sharp angular facial features. It was a pleasant face, attractive to some perhaps. But his eyes... his eyes were not what Stevens expected from a Fremen. They were not exactly the eerie Spice-laden blue within blue of Arrakis’ natives. They were dark blue where the whites should be, sure. The irises, however, showed their original color still; green with flecks of gold that were just starting to turn blue. An outworlder living among the Fremen? Unusual and puzzling.

“What you put in it?” Stevens asked, his voice hoarse and dry. He picked up the canteen and shook it, hearing the water slosh around inside.

“Nothing. If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” the kid answered with a smirk that made Stevens want to snap his neck. “It’s the same water you had with you, which belongs to us now.” It was a simple statement of fact. The man’s life and his body’s water belonged to the tribe now. Specifically, they belonged to Paul who was the only one interested in keeping him alive for now. “I’m letting you have that. Drink it.”

Stevens couldn’t understand what was happening. Why hadn’t they killed him when they found him in their territory? That’s what Fremen did with trespassers. Sometimes they’d questioned them - harshly - before killing them, but death was always assured. He thought back to the moments before he was knocked out. One of the Fremen was about to pull a knife on him, but this kid had yelled out _“No!”_ to stop him. His face had been hidden behind the moisture mask, but the voice had been the same.

After a moment of pondering his situation, Stevens declared, “Sgt. Mike Stevens, second division infantry. If you’re keeping me alive to extract information from me, don’t bother, that’s all you’re going to get.” He was defiant, and even if his captor didn’t believe him, he was truthful. Stevens wouldn’t reveal whom he truly served or anything he knew about their mission on Arrakis. Sardaukar soldiers were conditioned to withstand all manner of torture. Death was better than dishonor.

Paul nodded as if understanding something that had gone unsaid. He too was silent for a moment, pondering. It did not escape his notice that the man had not identified himself as a Harkonnen soldier. Actually, second division infantry could mean almost anything. He had made no raging but empty threats to violate his woman and disembowel him after, if he wasn’t released. Typically, that’s what the Harkonnen did before learning just how fearless the Fremen were. And, thus far, he had not rushed Paul in an attempt to kill him and escape. Though, that could simply be due to his current physically weakened state. Paul knew not to let his guard down in that regard.

“We don’t have to talk. Just drink the water, Sgt. Mike Stevens,” Paul finally said, trying out the man’s name. Sometimes little details like that helped to make sense of his visions.

“Why do you want me to drink it?” Stevens asked, puzzled by the kid’s instance.

Paul stared at Stevens with sudden amusement. Had he been this oblivious? Perhaps, he’d seemed that way to the Fremen who were fanatical about stillsuit discipline. “Because the best place to store the body’s water is in the body,” Paul answered, a minute smile passing over his lips. “You drank little while stranded in the desert, thinking it was best to ration and conserve it. Right?” Paul chuckled and shook his head, sending errant curls tumbling around his face. “That was exactly the wrong thing to do, Sgt. Mike Stevens.”

Irritated as he was by this kid’s arrogance, he wasn’t about to argue with a Fremen’s (if he was even Fremen) desert survival skills. He screwed off the cap on the canteen and sniffed at the contents. There was a distinct human odor, but that was to be expected from reclaimed water. He was thirsty. There was no doubt of that. Well, if they meant to drug or poison him, they’d find a way to do it regardless of his caution. Stevens resigned himself and took a swig, letting the warm but needed liquid fill his mouth. It wasn’t fresh water but it was water, so he drank about half the canteen before coming up for air. Amazing how even that little bit of water restored a sense of normality in him.

Paul watched the man drink from the canteen almost desperately. Water. Such a precious and horrid thing it was here on Arrakis. On his own home planet of Caladan, water was abundant. So much so that it was wasted to the point of obscenity. But here on Arrakis, water was a treasure. Water and Spice. The only two things of any value on this planet.

Paul tilted his head slightly as he watched the soldier. The man was huge, by anyone’s standards. He was lean but well-built with long, muscled limbs. His hair was dark blonde and cut very short; and not in the usual Harkonnen style, Paul noted. His face - despite the sunburn, deep scrapes and bruising - was not unpleasant to look at. His eyes were a natural, bright blue. No sign of Spice in them, which meant he’s been on Arrakis for less than six months.

Stevens took another drink before he noticed the Fremen was looking at him. The rough covering had slipped off his chest when he sat up and had pooled around his waist. It was, in fact, a Fremen outer robe that had been draped over him. But who’s robes? And why was he being stared at like that? This situation was becoming increasingly baffling.

“Where’s my stillsuit?” he asked, feeling strangely self-conscious, which was odd for him.

Paul reached to the side and slightly behind him to pull out the stillsuit. “It’s here. I finished the repairs I assume you had started. It’s desert-worthy again, though, it won’t last very long. The quality is quite poor. But you’ll be able to walk out of the desert with it.”

“Walk out of… you’re letting me go?” Stevens asked incredulously, but with a hope he couldn’t convincingly disguise.

Paul looked back at him, brows knitted slightly. “No. You’re coming back with us.”

Of course, that had been too good to be true. But what could these people want with a random soldier?

“So, let me get this straight,” Stevens started, “You and your pals find me trespassing in your territory, but instead of killing me outright, you give me shelter and water. You fix my stillsuit. And you plan to take me back to what I assume is your sietch as… what?... your prisoner? A prisoner that isn’t even tied up.”

Paul cocked his head slightly. “Are you going to give me a reason to tie you up? I’d rather you didn’t. It would slow us down considerably.”

Stevens blinked and just stared at Paul. He’d never met a Fremen this composed before. Granted, his experience with Fremen was limited to fighting them, and those bastards fought like demons. Still, this had to be highly unusual for these people. They weren’t referred to as _’savages’_ by the city folk for no reason, after all.

“Who are you?” Stevens asked, narrowing his eyes.

“My name is Muad'Dib,” Paul said, offering his common Fremen name.

Stevens scoffed and shook his head. This made more sense now. The kid was insane!

In Arrakeen, stories of the Fremen messiah finally arriving had been spreading for the better part of a year. It was one of the main reasons why the Padishah Emperor had continued to send his Sardaukar elite soldiers to Arrakis. The Harkonnens had proven to be ineffectual at squashing the tales because of general incompetence, but also because they gave no importance to Muad'Dib. The Padishah Emperor, however, understood the inherent danger in allowing the Fremen to rally around a messiah, real or imaginary.

“Muad'Dib is a myth. A story to comfort frightened children. He doesn’t exist.”

Paul smiled serenely but with a hint of dark satisfaction. “Is that what the Harkonnens tell themselves when the Fremen whisper my name?” This was good. Let them continue to think he’s just a legend invented by religious zealots with no ambitions or initiative. Let them slumber a little longer in their false sense of security. Paul’s face took on a challenging expression. “But you’re not a Harkonnen soldier, are you? If I were to take a guess, I’d say you’re a Sardaukar Elite.”

Stevens stilled and went silent. He may even have paled under his sunburnt skin. No, this young man wasn’t insane. Had delusions of grandeur, perhaps, but he was sharp and observant. Suddenly, the young man seemed a different level of dangerous. 

“And if I were to take a guess, I’d say you’re not really Fremen,” Stevens shot back, trying to take the focus off himself. He wasn’t up to a contest of wits with this man, but he had to try. Though, what he really wanted to do was wring this Muad'Dib’s neck and be done with it. He continued in this course, instead. “You’re an outworlder and you haven’t been on Arrakis long. Your eyes give you away. I can see some green is still in them.”

Paul was further convinced he was right, and Stevens had unwittingly provided the proof. This man was considerably more intelligent and perceptive than the average Harkonnen brute.

“So, perhaps, we’re both impostors,” Paul ventured recklessly. Though, he couldn’t fathom why he’d say something so risky.

The sound of the stilltent flap seal opening broke the tension between the two men. Chani entered, immediately narrowing her eyes at the prisoner who was awake and - for some reason - was not tied up. She carried a shallow dish, which she promptly deposited on the floor beside the captive. Some of the food spilt over, but she didn’t care. 

“Come and eat, Muad'Dib,” she said, addressing Paul. It couldn’t have been more obvious she wanted him away from the prisoner whom he had foolishly unbound.

Paul knew that tone. Chani had been distressed at the idea of Paul being alone with the enemy, but accepted his wishes. It seemed, however, her patience with him had reached its limit. 

“Eat and drink all the water. You’ll need your strength on the journey back,” Paul said to Stevens as he rose. He left the mended stillsuit for Stevens. Chani led the way out and he sealed the flap once again. He would have a lot of explaining to do now.


	5. Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul comes to a decision that nobody likes. Stevens makes plans of his own.

Finally alone, Stevens felt the weight of his circumstances press down on him. Rationally, he understood he was in considerable trouble. He was at the Fremen’s mercy, what little of it there may be. The so-called Muad'Dib’s comment about his _’body’s water’_ belonging to them was cause enough for serious anxiety. Rumors about the Fremen way of life were rampant in Arrakeen. Among the most outrageous Stevens had heard had to do with what the Fremen did with their dead. The deathstills they used to reclaim a dead body’s water. Horrific. Worse still, the gossip that they did the same with the body’s of their enemies, whether they were dead or alive. Is that the fate that awaited Stevens? To be desiccated in a deathstill chamber and die slowly in excruciating, unimaginable pain?

Despite this knowledge and the dread it inspired, Stevens wasn’t really feeling all that alarmed. He wouldn’t be able to say exactly why, only that the young man didn’t strike him as so inhumanly vicious. Of course, he could be completely wrong, but he didn’t think so. Perhaps because he believed the kid to not actually be a native Fremen. Of course, this assumption was conjecture on his part, but given their conversation it was a good reason to think the kid was an outworlder like himself. In fact, the kid had seemed anything but savage. He had been calm and composed and interested… in Stevens for some reason? Crazy to think that, but there it was.

Stevens took a deep breath. His head was really hurting and all this thinking wasn’t helping. He picked up the plate the girl had brought in and carefully scooped the food that had split back into it. It was food and he was glad to have it and wouldn’t waste what could be salvaged. Of course, they hadn’t provided any utensils. Even a novice soldier knew how to turn a spoon into a weapon with minimal effort. Hell, if he was so inclined or in need, the plate itself could be useful in that regard. 

Whatever this food was - he really couldn’t tell - it was loaded with Spice. So much so that no other flavor came through. Stevens wasn’t particularly fond of Spice. Even if it was the lifeblood and the cornerstone of commerce of the Known Universe, and so abundant in Arrakis it was even in the air, he didn’t like it. When he had first arrived on Arrakis, he had been assigned watch patrol in a Fremen district. A young girl had approached him and offered him what looked like a piece of some local candy. He’d taken it, giving the little girl a rare smile, and had eaten it. Later that night as he puked his guts out into a bucket, he learned two things: concentrated Spice could be lethal and never trust a Fremen. 

Despite his reservations, Stevens finished his meal. The Fremen kid hadn’t been wrong, whatever was next, he would need his strength.

****

“You untied him? What were you thinking?” Chani asked the moment she was alone with Paul in her stilltent. She had held her ire in as long as she could, but now demanded answers.

Paul sat down, suddenly feeling very tired. A strange weariness had settled deep in his bones. He wanted to sleep, but knew he couldn’t just yet. Not only did he have to deal with Chani, he would have to contend with Stilgar before long as well.

“May I have something to eat?” he asked, long fingers raking the hair out of his face. 

Chani sighed but gave him a reconciling nod. She prepared a plate for Paul - roasted desert hare and cheese - and brought it over to him. Noticing how tired he suddenly appeared, she also poured some Spice coffee for him. She sat down before him as she handed him the hot mug. Patience. She had to have patience with Muad'Dib. 

Paul took a couple of mouthfuls of the hare and a large swallow of coffee. He began to feel better. At least, enough to ward off sleep for a while longer.

“Thank you, Sihaya,” he said with a warm smile. He looked down at the contents of his plate. Larus or Fash must have caught a few hares while he was in with the prisoner. Fancy fare for an excursion of this sort. He looked back at her and asked, “What did you feed him?”

“Same thing we feed the donkeys,” she answered matter-of-factly.

Paul’s eyes widened before an unbidden laugh erupted from him, melting any tension between them. “You didn’t!!”

“What? It’s edible and I put some Spice in it to make it better.” She grinned. That made him laugh again and she joined him easily. They needed this. Paul’s visions and insistence that they rescue their enemy had put a slight strain in their relationship. Not that either of them would admit it. Their relationship was less than a year old, after all. 

There was a soft scratching at the stilltent flap and Stilgar called from the other side, “Muad'Dib?”

Paul reigned in his laughter long enough to answer, “Come in, Stil.”

Stilgar entered and resealed the flap before taking a seat by the two young ones. He noticed the lightness of their mood. He liked seeing them like this. Muad'Dib was so serious and moody. He feared the boy hardly knew how to be young and lighthearted. And Chani had been solemn since the death of her father. It was good they had found each other and could be of comfort to one another.

Chani offered Stilgar a plate, but he shook his head, having already eaten. Paul finished his meal and drank the rest of his coffee. Chani brought the pot and two more mugs for Stilgar and herself then filled them all. 

“The prisoner is awake, I hear,” Stilgar said.

“And Muad'Dib unbound him,” Chani offered and took a casual sip of her coffee. She wasn’t going let Paul off the hook on this one. Stilgar did not comment but his look was stern on the young Paul.

Paul took a deep breath to settle himself. It was difficult to make them understand when he himself didn’t fully understand. He had to try because he certainly needed their support in this matter. “I don’t believe the man to be a threat to us. I told you he would play a role in our plans. He would be vital to defeating the Harkonnens in some way. I believe that now more than before.”

Chani looked puzzled for a moment, then said, “He’s a Harkonnen soldier. You think he’s going to betray them?”

“See, I don’t think he is Harkonnen. In fact, I'm fairly certain he’s a Sardaukar Elite.”

Now that was a revelation to both Chani and Stilgar. “You think? You don’t know?” asked Chani.

“He didn’t make a confession exactly. But based on what he did say, I have a strong feeling I’m right. Look, we’ve suspected the Emperor has his men embedded with the Harkonnen. And if that’s so, then he was in league with them in my family’s betrayal. This man could confirm all this at some point.”

“That is hardly reassuring. The Padishah Emperor’s dogs are no friend to the Fremen,” Stilgar declared, his voice harsh. 

Paul nodded. The Padishah Emperor’s Sardaukar Elites were the most feared fighting force in the Known Universe. They brought death and terror wherever they went and kept House Corrino in ultimate power. And if Paul was right, they had played a role in his family’s betrayal and continued subjugation of the Fremen on Arrakis by the Harkonnens.

“I understand your reservations and your need to be cautious in this matter. I’ve asked much of you - of the tribe - and I will ask more still in the future. And I do agree that taking a stranger, an outworlder enemy, back to our sietch is a great risk. I need more time with him. I need to induce a stronger vision to get more answers. But most of all I need more time with him. This is why I've come to a decision.”

Paul looked at his companions, into their open faces. He didn't want to hurt them or worry them, but knew deep down this was the way it had to be. "I’ve decided to take the prisoner back myself. The rest of you will take a sandworm back, you’ll make better time that way. I will walk him across the desert back to the sietch myself. You can prepare a place where he can be kept separated from the others to minimize the risk. And I will have a few more days alone with him and be better able to gauge the level of danger he poses to us and whether or not he will be useful.”

Chani's eyes opened impossibly wide. The look of horror behind them was almost too much for Paul. He hated doing this to her. Stilgar sat still, unease on his face. They were both silent for a long moment.

“Muad’Dib, this course of action is reckless. It’s too hazardous. If that man kills you, our plans die with you,” Stilgar finally said.

“I can handle one man,” Paul retorted with a smile that did not reach his eyes, “As for the risk, my friend, the things we will do to realize our plans, to realize Kynes’ dreams for Arrakis, will carry with them such danger that escorting one prisoner across the desert will seem mild by comparison.”

“Did you not see the size of that man?” Chani asked, quite exasperated, “Did you not see him fight despite being beaten down by thirst and the desert? Your faith in your visions blinds you, Usul.”

That was a harsh comment that actually took Paul aback. Stilgar nodded slightly, but mostly in agreement with the part about the man’s strength and size.

“Do you not have faith in me, Chani?” Paul asked. It was unfair to use the old legends like this, but he and his mother had been doing it since they had been found by the Fremen. The Missionaria Protectiva and their religious seeding had kept them alive. They fed the myth and Paul saw no reason not to continue using it.

“I-I… Of course, I have faith in you, Usul. It’s why I worry about you because you don't. You'd throw yourself head first into danger and not think twice about it."

“I know you think that, Chani, but that’s not exactly how it is. I have seen enough to be confident in my decision. You must trust me. You both must trust me."

****

As it turned out, Stevens had survived the meal. As awful tasting as it had been, it had made him feel so much better. The water helped enormously, as well. He felt well enough to have hope and start thinking about how to continue staying alive.

Stevens had put his stillsuit back on. The repairs the kid had made were far better than what he had done and thought they would hold. He had waited for whatever was to come next. Nothing happened. No one came. It had been quiet for a while, actually. It had to have been hours, but Stevens had no way of actually telling time. 

His mind started wondering again to thoughts of escape. This might be the only chance he’d get. With a working stillsuit, he’d have a better chance to survive out there. He had to make a go for it or he’d regret not even trying. He put his ear to the stilltent flap and listened for the sound of his captors. Nothing. 

Stevens proceeded to unseal the stilltent flap, slowly to keep any noise to a minimum. He stuck his head out and was met by the barrel of a handheld lasgun.

“Found this out on the sand,” Larus said with some amusement. He’d been expecting something like this, after all. “Always wanted one. I think it’s still in working order. Should we find out?”

 _Damn it,_ Stevens thought bitterly. He considered his options. He could rush the man and try to take the lasgun. It was risky as he saw the Fremen had his finger on the trigger. 

“No need for that,” Stevens finally replied.

“Good decision. Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look. Get back inside now and we’ll save target practice for another day, yes?”

Stevens gave the guard a sardonic grin then retreated back into the stilltent. Larus resealed the flap. Of course, they’d have someone guarding him. The fact that the man had been perfectly quiet was impressive, though. Stevens realized there was much he and Sardaukar as a whole didn’t know about their enemy. Maybe this could be an opportunity to rectify that deficiency. 

He laid back down, his left arm under his head, and contemplated the possibilities. He had already learned the so-called Fremen messiah rumors may have some truth behind them. It was probably just a fraud, a convenient coincidence that this kid called himself 'Muad'Dib'. The girl had called him that, he recalled. At the very least, this group of people believed in the myth. That alone was valuable information. If he lived long enough to bring it back to someone who could make use of it.

****

Paul finished draining the reclaimed water out of his stillsuit into a waterskin, then set both aside. Stilgar had left them and they were finally alone. They prepared to sleep for a few hours before dusk, when they’d have to be on the move again. They would part for a few days at the very least, a prospect that still had Chani in distress. 

"You're angry with me," Paul stated without resentment. 

At first, Chani shook her head. She looked at Paul then nodded once, relenting. 

"I don't understand what drives you, Usul," she said earnestly. 

He sat down, arms on his knees. Paul couldn’t fault Chani for her frustration with him. It was impossible for anyone to understand how his mind worked. Even a Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit couldn’t fully understand. In all of recorded history no one like him had ever been born. He was the Kwisatz Haderach; the burden of _knowing_ was his alone. It was yet to be seen if his powers would be a blessing or a curse on humanity. 

“I don’t fully understand it myself, Sihaya. I know that I must trust whatever it is that drives me, though,” he said and extended a hand to her, a peace offering.

After a moment of consideration she said, "Don't get killed. I forbid it.” She took his hand and settled down next to him.

"I wouldn't dare," Paul replied, trying on a flirtatious smile.

"I'm serious!" Chani said with a playful snack at his bare chest. 

"OW!" Paul feigned being hurt. Pouting for full effect.

Chani rolled her eyes then pushed him the rest of the way, making him lie down. She lay her chin on his chest, looking up at him with softer eyes. 

Paul ran his fingers through her tawny-red hair gently, taking in the elfin details of this much loved face. How fragile she seemed, even to him. Inside her roared the heart of a laza tiger, he knew.

Chani moved up and kissed him. A deep soulful kiss, which Paul returned, pulling her closer to him. And so he decided, sleep could wait a little longer.


	6. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Stevens come to an understanding. Sort of. Paul gets a handful. Stevens gets schooled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. The muses were being stubborn with this one because they want to get "busy" but don't want to do the work to get there. *le sigh* Boys...

_He was surrounded by the pungent, intense scent of Spice. The very air was pregnant with it, threatening to choke him. He didn't know where he was, but it was dark and dry. He thought he might be in a tunnel. A long dark corridor that twisted and bent without rhyme or reason. If he stretched his arms out and touched the sides, he would find walls lined with long, razor sharp protrusions… like fangs._

_He walked along the strange tunnel, taking one bend and then another and then another. He knew not what drove him forward. On and on he went until he began to hear voices ahead. In the clamor of unintelligible voices he could make out two that seemed to call out to him. One was of a baby crying, the other of a small child, a girl perhaps. Odd, Fremen children cried only once, at birth, and then no more as it was a waste of the body’s water. Somehow, he knew the children were in danger and they needed him. He ran faster along the dark tunnel, cutting himself any time he came close to the tunnel walls. The childrens’ cries grew louder but he could not reach them. He could not see them. He could not help them._

_Suddenly, he was someplace else. Still in the tunnel but also in a birthing chamber. His beloved Chani was in pain but bore it with stoic endurance. She was surrounded by Fremen women. His own mother, the lady Jessica, was there as well. His and Chani’s child was about to be born._

_He took another bend in the tunnel and felt himself surrounded, trapped. He was not afraid. He was not in danger. He wanted to be there. He was in someone’s strong arms, held in a welcomed embrace. He felt safe. There was a voice, deep and soothing, telling him everything would be alright. He believed it._

For once, Paul woke up gently from his dream vision. This one had most likely been brought on by the large quantity of Spice coffee he had taken to stay awake the day before. None of his companions had awakened him. They had allowed him to have the time he needed with his visions. He sat up, the sound of activity coming through the stilltent walls. The others were busy dismantling the camp. For a moment, a pang of guilt went through him. He should be out there helping and not dreaming. He immediately shook his head, dispelling the useless notion of guilt. It served no purpose. He was who he was and his prescience was of value to the tribe.

Still, Paul had to get up and get ready to go. He had no time to process the things he’d just seen. A proper analysis would have to wait. As he got into his stillsuit, he quickly went over the essentials of the visions. A great commotion and children crying. The birth of his child by Chani. The embrace. Turmoil. Joy. Comfort. All these things were connected. He just didn’t know how, yet.

It was early dusk when Paul finally stepped outside. The camp was being taken down with practiced efficiency. Reclaimed water was drained from stilltents and stored in waterskins for the journey back. Stilltents were neatly folded and packed. All waste was buried deep under the sand. The Fremen left virtually no trace of where they had been. The desert wind would conceal anything they missed.

Paul spotted Stevens at the base of the rock outcrop. The big man knelt there blindfolded and hands bound behind his back. Someone must have placed him there, in plain sight, so they could keep an eye on him while they worked. He seemed unusually subdued, which made Paul wonder what was going on inside his head. He was about to go to the prisoner, when Stilgar intercepted him.

Stilgar gave Paul some suggestions and advice on how to handle the Sardaukar. Paul may have his incredible gift of prescience, he may be wise beyond his years and he may be an excellent fighter, but Stilgar still had actual experience which the young man didn’t have. Stilgar was not in full agreement with Paul’s plan, but had to admit it wasn’t completely terrible. Besides that, his trust of Muad'Dib was nearly unshakable at this point. 

Chani was another matter entirely. Where Stilgar had been talkative and overly-focused on Paul, Chani had been quiet and solemn. She kept her thoughts and concerns to herself now. When it came time to depart, all she said to Paul was _’Don’t get killed.’_

Paul watched his companions set off across the open sand. They headed south towards home. They would get some distance, over a couple of dunes at least, before calling a worm. Safest for all that way and no chance the out-worlder would actually see them call and ride a sandworm. The Fremen kept their desert-living secrets close.

When he could no longer see his friends, Paul turned to look back at Stevens. This was it. He had set this path into motion. He had to see it through now. He walked over to his prisoner, determined to make this lunacy work. He leaned down and removed the blindfold from the man’s eyes. 

Stevens had been still, listening to the intermittent sounds of the camp being torn down and the ever-present desert wind. He had wondered briefly where the boy, Muad’Dib, had been as he wasn’t one of the Fremen that had come to get him. He had been taken out of the stilltent already bound and blindfolded, so he had no idea if the kid had been outside. He waited, resolute to learn as much as he could about these people, trusting that the right opportunity for escape would present itself eventually. Patience had never truly been his forte, but he was good at adapting. 

It had been quiet for such a long time, though, Stevens began to think that maybe his captors had just left him. The notion of not seeing the kid’s face again - it was a nice face - bothered him. Inexplicably so. Vexingly so. Why should that bother him at all? It should bother him more being left blindfolded and bound in this desert hellscape. He huffed out a breath in frustration - more at himself than the situation - when he heard the sound of footsteps on the rock. Someone was moving closer to him. 

Steven’s head was tilted forward slightly and the blindfold was removed. He blinked several times, allowing his eyes to adjust. His hands were unbound. He brought them around and rubbed his wrists, the strain on his arms easing almost pleasantly. 

“Sgt. Mike Stevens, second division infantry… of the Sardaukar,” Paul said as he moved to stand before Stevens. He tucked the blindfold and rope in the folds of his robes. 

Stevens did not rise to the bait. He tried to keep his features stoic and impassive. He did notice there was a curious look on the kid’s face - that nice face - that he couldn’t quite place. He looked around himself, noticing the camp had been completely dismantled. Only a couple of backpacks and a tent pack lay at the foot of the rock outcrop. 

“Where are your friends?” Stevens asked, “I thought the plan was to take me back to your sietch. Has that changed?”

Paul crouched down in front of the prisoner. He looked into the man's naturally blue eyes for a moment, pondering just how much he should say. He wished his visions had been clearer about this man, that he knew more.

“They’ve gone ahead,” Paul answered with a slight shake of his head, “I’m taking you back myself.”

“Alone?” Stevens asked, eyebrows rising in genuine surprise.

Paul nodded.

A burst of laughter erupted out of the soldier before he could reign it in. Stevens felt both incredulous and relieved. 

Paul snickered a bit himself, though. He wasn’t offended. He’d already heard all about how bad of an idea this was from his companions. Whatever Stevens thought of it, wouldn’t phase him one way or another.

“You’re brave. I’ll give you that,” Stevens said, still amused.

“Or stupid, right?” Paul finished the unspoken thought. “Look, I know you’ll be tempted to kill me. You can try. It’s doubtful you’ll succeed, though. But let’s say you were able to kill me. You wouldn’t get out of the desert alive. I mean, you’d be dead by now if we hadn’t found you.”

Stevens ignored the obvious truth of the last statement. “If you really believe me to be Sardaukar, then you know I’m more than capable of killing you with minimal effort.”

Paul smiled slightly at that. “I don’t doubt your skills, but you don’t know mine. Still, I’d rather not put either of our capabilities to the test right now.”

“Then what are you proposing?”

“A truce. You don’t try to kill me and I won’t have to kill you. Listen, you need me to get out of here. That’s to your advantage,” Paul said matter-of-factly.

“So you claim. But what do you get out of this? I’ve already told you I won’t tell you anything.” Stevens shifted a bit on his knees. The young man tensed slightly, almost imperceptibly. It was Stevens’ trained eye that caught the defensive reflex. Despite the outer relaxed appearance, the kid’s senses were on full alert. If Stevens lunged at him, he’d be able spring out of reach with ease. He may not know how the young man had been trained exactly, but he was learning to read him.

Paul watched the man’s face, his eyes. He was calculating something. This could have been a terrible mistake. He considered his next words carefully. Whether his plan worked or not would depend on how Stevens took what he was about to say.

“I don’t need whatever information you may have,” Paul began, “But it seems I will need you for something in the future, though. You know what Spice can do, I assume.”

Stevens was intrigued despite his distrust. He was also more than a little confused by the prospect of this kid needing him for something. He scoffed. “Of course, I know. Everyone knows about Spice. The Navigators and the Bene Gesserit witches both use it," he said; though, in truth, Stevens didn't know what those people used Spiced for exactly. No one outside their guilds knew, only that they used it to the point of addiction, it could be argued.

“So you know it can trigger prescient visions in those who are predisposed to it. I am such a person,” Paul said. He hesitated a moment before adding, “That’s how I knew I’d find you here.”

“You knew?” Stevens asked incredulously.

“I saw what would happen to you before it happened. I saw the sandworm attack on your troop,” Paul answered, ducking his head for a moment before looking at Stevens again. 

Stevens narrowed his eyes. “Did you send that thing after us?”

Paul shook his head, waves of curls bounced around his face. “You flatter me if you think I have that kind of power; but no, no one can command Shai-Hulud. You called the sandworm to yourselves.”

_Shai-hu-what?_ Stevens thought with increasing annoyance.

Stevens rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. He couldn’t fathom how they had _’called’_ the worm to them or really how the kid could possibly have known beforehand. He’d never actually met anyone who claimed to be prescient before and the very idea seemed far fetched. Paul’s explanations were not doing anything to alleviate his suspicion. “So what the hell is it you need me for?”

“I don’t know that yet,” Paul answered honestly. He looked very young suddenly and a little lost. It didn’t last, though, as he schooled his features back into a believable semblance of calm. “Look, it’s not important right now. The answer will come to me eventually. Right now, we have to get going. Can we have that truce?” 

Infuriating. This kid’s obfuscation and muddled answers were simply infuriating. He can see the future, but doesn’t know what he needs with Stevens. Just… infuriating.

“Fine,” Stevens grumbled his answer. 

Paul grinned and extended his hand as a peace offering. Stevens took Paul’s hand, if a bit begrudgingly at first, but shook it soundly. He found the boy’s smiling face - that slightly crooked mouth - was way too disarming. That annoyed Stevens even more.

_Good. I’ll take that as progress,_ Paul thought, somewhat pleased with himself.

“But first, your suit. It needs adjusting,” Paul announced.

Stevens looked down at his suit. “What? It’s fine,” he stated defensively. He’d put it on the way he had been instructed, the way he always put it on.

“No. It’s too loose. You haven’t sealed it properly. Stand up.”

Stevens sighed, then stood up. He was frustrated but mostly because the kid was getting under his skin in more ways than one and he knew that would put him at a disadvantage. _Keep it together, soldier,_ Stevens thought. Still annoyed.

“These seals are meant to keep moisture in and channel it to the catchpockets,” Paul said almost absently as he began adjusting Stevens’ stillsuit at the ankles. “If they’re loose, too much moisture escapes. The quality of this off-world made suit is already substandard, don’t need to add to its inefficiency.”

Aside from being poisoned by a Fremen child and almost being swallowed up by a sandworm, this had to be the most surreal thing that had happened to Stevens since arriving on Arrakis. This kid - his enemy, his captor - was actually adjusting his stillsuit. Not to mention, he had repaired it the day before. 

_What is happening?_ Steven’s thought, trading annoyance for feeling off balance. 

Paul moved to Stevens’ knees, tightening the suit as he went along. He was completely aware of what he was doing and hoped the message would be received correctly. He really didn’t want a fight with this man. It would be a shame to have to kill someone he was confident would become an ally. 

Looking up to make sure Stevens’ wasn’t contemplating doing something stupid, Paul had to crane his neck way back. “Well, that’s a long trip,” he commented with amusement, “How tall are you, anyway?”

“Six five,” Stevens answered.

Paul let out a low whistle as he continued to adjust the stillsuit seals. It elicited a chuckle from Stevens, alleviating some of the frustration he’d been feeling.

Paul stood up and went to work on the wrist, elbow and shoulder seals on Stevens’ suit. Those weren’t as bad and he made quick work of them.

“I… this… well,” Paul stammered for a moment, considering his options. There was no way around it. He had to go there. Paul reached down and grabbed the crotch of Stevens’ stillsuit.

Stevens’ eyes snapped to Paul. His hands twitched at his sides, but he kept them at his sides. Now this was certainly unreal. “It’s going to be like that then,” Stevens finally said.

“You’ll thank me when piss doesn’t run down your legs,” Paul said, trying to sound casual. He adjusted the crotch and tightened the seals around the upper thighs and lower waist. He really didn’t want to think too much of what he was feeling under the suit. “Whoever showed you how to wear a stillsuit was probably trying to get you killed,” Paul said to distract himself. “There, done. Remember how to do that.” 

Stevens could feel the difference in the stillsuit. It definitely felt tighter, a better fit. “I’ll remember,” he said instead of ‘thank you’. He really didn’t trust himself to say anything else at the moment.

Paul got his backpack, reached inside and pulled out a moisture mask. He tossed it to Stevens. “You can use that. It’s my only spare, so don’t mess it up. Now, I'm going to assume you and your friends didn't know how to walk across the desert safely. Which is why you ended up attracting a sandworm. I'm going to show you. Watch and do as I do.”

Paul stepped off the rock outcrop onto the sand and showed Stevens how the Fremen walk when traversing the desert.

“Keep your stride irregular. Vary how you shift your weight from foot to foot. Walk fast, then slower. Drag your feet, then pick them up,” Paul said as he demonstrated what he meant. “Sandworms are attracted to regular patterns. They’ll ignore irregular ones… for the most part.”

If asked, Stevens would have to admit to being astonished. He had known nothing of this. No off-worlder did. Not even the Harkonnens, who had ruled this planet for generations before the Atreides’ brief time. He realized bitterly that his mission had been doomed from the start. He had to hand it to the Fremen. They were as good at keeping secrets as the Sardaukar.

“Alright then, time to go. Grab your backpack and the tent,” Paul directed as he hoisted up his own pack on his back. “Walk ahead of me so I can keep an eye on your stride. Don’t want you accidentally calling a worm and getting us killed.”


	7. Ghosts of Our Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger looms on the horizon. The boys need to work together. All the while, memories and emotions bubble up to the surface.

Night had fallen over Arrakis. Thankfully, the moon gave off enough light to see. At first, Stevens struggled to walk as Paul had shown him. It was an unnatural way for a human to walk, but that was the point. Every time he fell into a regular pattern, Paul would correct him with an ominous warning that the sandworms were ‘listening’. It was annoying. By hour three, Stevens had more or less managed the strange way of walking, but his muscles were in full protest. The strain on his legs, hips and back got worse with each step. He bore it in silence and marched on.

Paul noticed the effort the unusual walking style caused Stevens. It brought back vivid memories of his and his mother’s first crossing of the desert while fleeing the treacherous Harkonnens. He remembered the pain in his own legs and back. The tension and stress all over his body. His mother’s tears from the strain; that almost broke him. His falling into the first mind-bending and intense spice-induced vision. The full awakening of consciousness that followed. Reciting the Litany Against Fear over and over again just to keep his mind together. He remembered it all too well.

The unpleasant memories were eventually dispelled by the view of Stevens walking ahead of him. Obviously, he had to keep an eye on the man to make sure his stride didn’t revert to a regular pattern. Pretty soon, however, Paul succumbed to distraction. Watching Stevens’ movements so closely made him recall what the man’s body felt like, let alone what it looked like under the stillsuit. Even roughed up as he was, Stevens was attractive, there was no doubt of that. What puzzled Paul was why he would care about that at all. Except, that curious sense of familiarity with this stranger persisted. Perhaps because Stevens reminded Paul of Duncan Idaho in so many ways. Duncan had been a big, gruff soldier, as well. Good-humored, fearless, loyal Duncan. Paul missed his friend, all they had been to each other and all that would never be. Watching Stevens walking ahead of him now reminded Paul of his and Duncan’s hunting trips. Duncan always led the way through the wilds of Caladan. They’d spend days out there, searching for their prey, the giant wild boars. Paul shook his head and tore his eyes off Stevens. Those memories were just too painful.

After about another two hours, Stevens finally had to stop. He bent over, hands on his knees, panting for breath under the mask. Stevens was no stranger to long marches over difficult terrain, but this was entirely different. His muscles felt as if they’d been doused in acid. _Fuck this planet,_ Stevens thought miserably, probably for the hundredth time since landing on Arrakis.

Paul came to a stop alongside Stevens. He surveyed the area quickly, looking for any signs of danger. He was particularly aware of the northeastern sky, as he’d been for a while.

“It’s difficult, I know, but you’ll adapt,” Paul said as he removed his mask. He uncoiled the mouth tube from the neck of his suit and sucked on it, drawing up a draught of reclaimed water. “We can rest here for a few minutes,” he said as he looked around again. “Drink some water.”

Stevens straightened, the packs on his back weighing a ton suddenly. He stood with hands on his hips, waiting for his breathing to even out. 

“Actually, all things considered, you’re doing well. No sandworms so far,” Paul said with a quick smirk.

“Oh, well, that makes me feel better,” Stevens retorted sarcastically. He really wanted to hit something right now. Instead, he pulled off his mask and drank from the mouth tube. He’d have to be satisfied with that bit of relief for now.

Paul snickered, but decided not to egg the man on. He gave Stevens a few minutes to rest and get himself together before announcing they needed to get moving again.

“Give me a minute,” Stevens replied, clearly irritated.

“Look over there,” Paul said as he pointed to the northeast. “See the sky? You can’t see any stars over there, can you?”

Stevens looked at the sky and shrugged. “So?”

“That’s a sandstorm. I first noticed it about a half hour ago. It’s moving this way. We can’t wait it out here. But that way,” Paul said as he pointed south, “Over a dune or two more, we’ll find shelter.”

“Shit. You could have said something earlier,” Stevens said as he looked back at Paul.

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been as dramatic,” Paul deadpanned. He motioned with his head in the direction they should go, “Come on.”

They moved quickly over the next two dunes as the sandstorm loomed ever closer behind them. As a trained soldier, Stevens compartmentalized the pain in his body to the far side of his awareness where it wouldn’t bother him. At least not until he could rest. Right now, getting shelter up before that storm hit them was the priority. 

They came to an expansive valley between dunes where the sand was hard packed under their feet. There were several rock pedestal formations along the valley as well. Stevens understood immediately this would be a good place for them to weather out the storm.

Paul led the way now as he walked towards a rock pedestal with a wide base and about eight feet of clearance between the desert floor and the bottom of the rock. It was high enough for them to walk under and set up the stilltent, but low enough to prevent them being completely buried under sand once the storm passed.

“This looks good,” Paul said as he removed his backpack, “We can set up the stilltent on the southwest side of the pedestal since the storm is coming from the other direction.”

Stevens didn’t wait for further instruction. He noticed the air pressure had changed and that made him eager to get the stilltent up. He removed his backpack and the tentpack and got to work. 

Paul couldn’t help but be impressed with Stevens. He knew the man’s back and legs had to still be hurting. He was still bruised and sore and recovering from dehydration, as well. Yet, the soldier showed no outward signs of weakness or pain. They worked together seamlessly, which didn’t go unnoticed by Paul. Between the two of them they had the stilltent up and secured as quickly as any native Fremen. It wasn’t a moment too soon either. Loose sand was already being picked up and sucked up towards the direction of the storm. They had perhaps another ten minutes before it would be on top of them.

Once inside, Paul sealed the tent flap to keep moisture from escaping. Stevens turned on the portable glowglobe. Its amber light lit up the interior well enough as it hovered and hummed softly above their heads. Each man claimed his side of the tent by dropping his backpack. They removed their moisture masks and nostril plugs as they wouldn’t be necessary inside the stilltent.

Only then did Stevens practically collapse onto his side. His eyes were shut and his lips were pressed tightly together as he held in any sounds of discomfort. His back and lower body felt as if on fire. His head hurt, as well.

Paul sat cross-legged on his side of the tent. Outside, the wind began to pick up force. A low but persistent howl could be heard now. 

“Will it hold?” Stevens asked, his voice sounding as strained as he looked. His eyes were still shut, though he had arranged himself into a more comfortable position. 

“It’ll hold,” Paul answered with quiet assurance. 

The storm blew over them with all the ferocity of nature at its worst. The sound was deafening and more than a little horrifying. The wind and the sand it carried battered the sides of the tent relentlessly. The location Paul had chosen proved to be good, as the wide stone pedestal did shelter them from the worst of the wind. Still, the storm raged for the better part of an hour. 

“It’s dying down,” Paul finally announced once the howling of the wind began to quiet. 

Stevens sat up with a grunt. That one he couldn’t hold back even though his body wasn’t aching as badly. He was exhausted, though. 

“Was that your first sandstorm?” Paul asked. He opened his backpack and began rummaging through it.

Stevens threw Paul a quick glance. “No. I saw one on Arrakeen a couple months back. The shield wall...”

“...Protected the city,” Paul interrupted, knowingly. He smiled though he didn’t bother looking up at Stevens and continued to look through his backpack. “It’s a little different out here in the wild desert of Arrakis.”

“Everything is different out here,” Stevens said thoughtfully. 

Paul did look back at Stevens now, his expression verging on sympathetic. He nodded his head. He’d come to the same realization about Arrakis long ago.

He pulled out the bundle he’d been looking for out of his pack and unwrapped it. Inside were a few pieces of the roasted desert hare from the night before and a mid-sized chunk of cheese. He split the meal into two equal portions and then slid one over to Stevens.

Stevens watched Paul, befuddled by this gesture. He had never shared a meal with a prisoner. The very idea was so unheard of, ridiculous even. In fact, he could only remember sharing his food with one person. Benjamin Coss. Benji had been Stevens best friend growing up in Salusa Secundus. They had been closer than brothers and did everything together, including training to become Sardaukar Elites. It was the only option for boys of their class, after all. It suddenly dawned on Stevens what had been nagging him about Paul all this time. He resembled Benji. Same slender build, same wavy brown hair; though, Benji’s had been short. Even the eyes were similar, not in color, but they had the same half-lidded, thoughtful, brooding look to them as Benji’s. He was probably around the same age Benji had been when he was killed in a training exercise. 

“Go ahead, eat,” Paul said. He took a bite of his own portion of the hare.

Stevens blinked back the memories and refocused. He looked down at the food, then back at Paul for a moment. He clenched his jaw slightly, but said nothing. Instead, he began rummaging through his own backpack. Most of his stuff was there with the exception of his knife and paracompass. He found a ration protein bar, broke it in half and tossed a half to Paul. It was all the food he had to share, but doing so loosened a knot in his stomach he hadn’t noticed was there before.

Paul picked up the half protein bar. That was unexpected, especially from a Sardaukar. He wondered if the other man was thinking the same thing about him. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Stevens nodded and ate his meal in silence. They remained that way for a while - each eating his own portion, each in his own thoughts - as the storm moved farther from them and they could no longer hear it.

“Tell me about Salusa Secundus,” Paul asked, suddenly breaking the silence.

Stevens had been stretching and massaging his legs in an effort to ease the strain. It was not an easy task in a stillsuit. He shrugged at Paul. “I don’t know anything about that world. Never been.”

Paul gave Stevens an amused, ironic look.

“Why do you want to know about Salusa Secundus, anyway? It’s a dreadful place from what I hear.”

“I don’t know. Make conversation, maybe. Pass the time,” Paul said, “Besides, you can give it up. I know you’re Sardaukar.”

“Oh, saw that in a spice vision, did you?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm, because you’re the Fremen messiah, no doubt.” It was Stevens’ turn to be amused by the absurdity of it all.

“That’s what they say,” Paul said then paused before adding, “I’m called by different names depending on who you ask. I am different things to different people. Though, I don’t really know what I am. No one like me has ever been born before.”

Stevens couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that. “Damn, and I thought the Sardaukar were fanatical. You really believe your own hype, don’t you, Muad’Dib?” he asked sarcastically. 

“You don’t have to believe me. It is what it is. I am prescient to a degree never before achieved by a human being. I’ve seen so many things…” _Terrible things,_ he didn’t say. “It was the spice. It unleashed my deepest consciousness. I am the one who can be in many places at once. I can look into the past, I can see things occurring right now, and I can even glimpse the future. Though the future is always in flux, always changing. I saw you in my future. I saw you as… You have a part to play in my future. And, no, it’s not to kill me.”

“Oh, of course not. Not that! Not the most obvious thing I would do,” Stevens said with a humorless chuckle.

Paul sighed and thought for a moment. He would have to do this eventually, so might as well do it now. “You were born on Salusa Secundus to a pleasure woman named Tanda. Your father was Sardaukar, but you didn’t know him well. He was killed on a mission before your fifth year. Your mother named you after him. She loved...”

“Shut up!” Stevens shouted, red-faced and angry. He sprang up onto his knees, hands fisted at his sides, his whole body coiled in tension.

Paul remained silent and still, but keenly focused on Stevens’ every move. It was clear the man wanted to jump him but was fighting the urge to do so with everything he had. Again, he considered using the Voice to subdue him, but he too held back.

“How do you know that?” Stevens finally asked, his voice tight with restrained fury.

“I told you, I’m prescient. After we spoke yesterday and I guessed you were Sardaukar and not Harkonnen, I was able to dig deeper into my visions. It was a thread I could pull on and unravel a bit of truth.”

“Fuck your prescience. You don’t know a fucking thing,” Stevens retorted bitterly. He couldn’t decide if he was more angry or more startled that his kid could actually know those details about his past. His kin. What else did he know?

They were both silent for a long time, just staring at each other. Eventually, Stevens sat back down and Paul relaxed.

“You were right about me,” Paul finally said, taking another calculated risk, “I’m not a native of Arrakis. The Fremen took me in and gave me a place among them. They saved my life.”

“I don’t care,” Stevens spat back. He was tired of this kid. He was tired of everything. He was a soldier, a fighter. He wasn’t made for whatever the hell was happening here. He laid down and draped an arm over his eyes. He was done with this conversation. 

They slept the rest of the night and into the day. Paul woke up first. Understandably, he had not slept well, waking up at the slightest sound. He did have a dangerous prisoner, unbound and in a bad mood, within feet of himself. It had been his decision to keep Stevens free, as it had been his decision to take him back alone, as it had been his decision to come out here and rescue him in the first place. It was all based on his vision. The details of which were still shrouded. So if it all went to hell, he’d have only himself to blame.

For the first time since all this had started, Paul wished he could speak with his mother. He needed her wisdom, her detachment, her impartiality. He needed someone with whom he could talk about his visions. Make sense of them. Or perhaps, he was just lonely. Even with Chani at his side, Paul felt lonely much too often. He supposed it was the collateral fallout of what he was becoming. In which case, he’d better make friends with loneliness. 

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his face with the palm of his hand. Stevens was still asleep, or so Paul assumed as he laid on his side, facing away from Paul. He supposed it had to be around midday or just within a few hours of it. Still too hot to continue their journey. He’d wait until early evening. In the meantime, Paul would meditate to center himself.

Sheer physical exhaustion allowed Stevens to sleep uninterrupted. He dreamt of Salusa Secundus and his early years there. Like so many other things, Stevens had secured those memories in a part of his mind he rarely visited. Surely, the conversation with Paul earlier had to have triggered those memories to the surface. He dreamt he was running an advanced obstacle course, excelling in his physical prowess as he usually did. He was only thirteen but already bigger and stronger than most of his peers. He was certainly bigger than Benji, who always struggled through the courses. The boy gave it all he had, though. They both did. They had little option as poor effort resulted in beatings and other unsavory punishments. It hadn’t always been bad, though. And that’s where the dream took Stevens next, to better times. He and Benji were sneaking out of the barracks in the middle of the night. They ran through the woods as sure-footed and wild as a couple of young bucks. For a precious few beats they weren’t killers in training, they were just boys. The dreamscape shifted and they were in a cave. It was their cave. Where they went to shelter from Salusa’s harsh weather, to keep from being discovered by the roaming patrols, to be alone. Stevens could hear Benji now, breathing in his ear. _“Mike.”_ He could feel his hands on his legs, on his arms, on his groin. Stevens' own hands reached for the other boy, but couldn’t find him. _Mike._ He could feel Benji’s lips on his lips. Stevens pulled back and with his dreaming eyes saw the boy was not Benji at all. _Sgt. Mike Stevens._ The face. The eyes. Blue within blue. 

Stevens’ eyes snapped open. He was awake. He was in a stilltent, on Arrakis. The essence of the dream drifted out of his mind. His body wasn’t responding as quickly, though. The sensation in his groin came into clear focus. He was hard under the stillsuit and quite uncomfortable in its tight confines. 

_Damn it,_ Stevens thought in futile frustration. This was absolutely the last thing he needed right now. He turned his head and spotted Paul sitting cross-legged across from him. The kid’s eyes were closed and he was perfectly still. What was he doing?

_Damn it. Damn it. Damn it._

He wouldn’t be able to take care of business, not like this. Stevens remained on his side, eyes closed, taking deep breaths and willing his body to settle down. His erection began to fade - way too slowly - from intentional neglect. As he waited, Stevens got that nagging feeling again. He hadn't thought about Benji in years, let alone dreamt of him. Stevens had effectively buried that part of himself along with the memories of his old friend. They served no purpose and did him no good.

But it hadn’t been Benji after all, had it?


	8. A Man's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fickle nature of Arrakis turns the tables between Stevens and Paul. Luck smiles on Stevens but Paul doesn't fare so well.

Late afternoon on Arrakis and the sun was still scorching the desert. Paul didn’t want to delay their journey any longer. After digging their way out - as the stilltent had been partially buried under the sand the storm left behind - he got them back on track. All things considered, the storm hadn’t been as bad as he had thought it’d be.

Stevens was still in a somewhat foul mood, so they went forth in a tense silence. Paul wasn’t sure if the man was still angry from what he’d revealed the night before or just from his general captivity. He figured it had to be the former. Paul understood prescience could be jarring to some people, especially when they first encountered someone with that gift. He had faced that kind of suspicion on a daily basis with the Fremen when he’d first come to the sietch. There were still many of them who distrusted Paul for various reasons, his prescience among them. He decided to be patient with the man for now, but he needed Stevens to get over it eventually. 

Paul maneuvered them through the valley of the rock pedestals as far as it would take them. It was a safer route and easier to walk through. Eventually, they reached the edge and had to go back on loose sand. 

The desert seemed endless to Stevens. Behind every dune, there was another dune. The dying light made the expanse seem even more boundless. His eye wasn’t trained to notice the small details that made each dune different from the others, so it all looked the same to Stevens.

He wasn’t in as much of a sulk as he’d been when they first set out, but he did keep silent for the most part. The dream of Benji and Salusa Secundus had disturbed him more than he’d admit. Or perhaps it had been his body’s unexpected reaction. Or perhaps he was just making too much of it. The only thing he could be sure of was that he just didn’t want to feel anything right now.

Nearing dusk, they reached the outer edge of Tuono Basin. It was a large, flat expanse of sand ringed by a series of rock cliff walls. The nearest cliff wall was still about four miles away from where they entered the basin. They could walk throughout the night, but Paul knew hidden in those formations were caves, many of which the Fremen had converted into livable spaces. The Cave of Ridges was there. It would be a good place to stop and rest.

About half a mile in, Paul felt the first tremor. It was so subtle, it might have gone unnoticed by someone with less knowledge of the desert, like Stevens who continued forward undisturbed. Paul slowed down, waiting for the next tremor, but hoping it would not come. A few more steps and he felt another. The ground under his feet rumbling as if boiling from deep beneath the desert.

“Stop,” Paul called out.

Stevens halted and turned around to face Paul. He had felt something but wasn’t sure what. He now noticed Paul was way behind him and looking rather agitated. “What?”

Paul waited and waited and waited. So many minutes passed that he began to think they were in the clear. The next tremor, however, was strong enough for Stevens to take notice. It was accompanied by a vent of gaseous steam and spice some twenty feet away from where Paul stood. 

Paul immediately turned towards the vent. The scent of cinnamon and carbon dioxide quickly filled the air. 

“Is it a worm?” Stevens asked, almost shouting. He really did not want to deal with one of those beasts again. Ever, in his life, if he could help it. 

Paul shook his head. “Spice blow. Run! To the cliffs. Run!!” Paul shouted and began to run, closing the distance between himself and Stevens in an instant.

Stevens had no idea what a spice blow was, but judging by the kid’s reaction, it couldn’t be good. He fell into step with Paul, running as fast and as hard as he could. The trembling under their feet intensified. So much so, he lost his footing a few times and almost stumbled. Paul was lighter on his feet and ran like a gazelle.

The tremors came more quickly and the rumbling got louder. Suddenly a column of spice, water vapor and carbon dioxide erupted from the sand like a geyser. Both men fell face first into the sand; Stevens landing on top of Paul. They covered their heads with their arms, instinctively. The spice flew higher and higher and with more force than could be imagined. The eruption lasted only a few minutes, but the violence of the blast made it feel like it was a lot longer. When it was over, spice covered an area of about 250 feet around and was several inches thick. Both Stevens and Paul were completely covered in spice and sand. They coughed as the fine particles got through their moisture masks, inevitably clogging the air vents. They had to remove the masks if they wanted to breathe. Not that it helped much since the air was loaded with spice and sand. 

Stevens pushed himself off Paul and sat back on his calves. He coughed and wiped at his face. The pungent smell of spice burned his nostrils. He shook his upper body, spice and sand falling off him in thick rivulets. When he was finally able to open his eyes, Stevens saw Paul had rolled over onto his back and was trembling.

"What's the matter with you?" Stevens asked.

"The spice… t-too much…" Paul stammered. He fought to stay conscious with everything he had. That amount of spice, however, was far more than he could handle. He wouldn't be able to hold back a vision trance for long.

He heard his mother’s voice in his head.

_’You are the Kwisatz Haderach. You must control it, Paul.’_

He shook his head desperately, as if she were actually there admonishing him. He fought so hard.

_I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer._ He recited in his head. _Fear is the little death…_

It was no good. Paul could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness.

"C-Cliffs… the cliffs…" Paul muttered, helplessly. He reached for Stevens, desperate to make him understand. His frightened eyes seemed to stare through Stevens. His pupils were so dilated now, no color was visible. He rambled further but Stevens couldn't make out what he was saying. Paul's fingers dug into Stevens' arm until his eyes finally rolled to the back of his head. He went completely still and silent then. 

"Hey!" Stevens shouted as he shook Paul by the shoulders. "Hey! Wake up!" 

There was no response. Paul was out. Maybe he was dead? Stevens checked for a pulse and breathing. No. He was still alive, just unconscious and completely useless. Stevens looked around, somewhat in shock. There was a small crater on the desert floor where the eruption occurred. Particles of spice still floated in the air like snow flurries, lazily falling onto the ground. Stevens realized that violent explosion could have easily killed them had they been standing nearer to the center. Now, the darkened desert seemed eerily peaceful and benign, as if nothing had happened. 

After shaking most of the spice and sand off himself, Stevens felt calmer and was able to think clearly again. It dawned on him this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. He really wouldn't get a better chance to escape than this one. He had to take it. Right?

Stevens looked down at Paul. The kid seemed so young, so vulnerable, lying there unconscious covered in spice and sand. If Stevens left him like this, he would probably die. Hell, he might die from whatever was happening to him now. Still, a chance this good to make a break for it wouldn’t come again.

Stevens grabbed Paul by the shoulders and pulled him up. He removed the kid’s backpack, then let him fall back onto the sand. He detached the long hooks from the pack and tossed them aside. He had no idea what they were for and didn’t need the extra weight. He stood up, slung Paul’s backpack over his shoulder and began walking in the direction that they had come.

The soldier hadn’t gotten even fifty paces away before a knot began forming in his stomach. His thoughts ran in multiple directions at once, making him anxious and irritable. He tried not to think. To just focus on keeping his stride irregular. The kid had taught how to do that, he remembered. The kid had mended his stillsuit, as well. If this Muad’Dib was to be believed, he had come out here expressly for the reason of rescuing an enemy. A scowl grew on Stevens’ face as he walked on.

_This is stupid. Don’t be an idiot. You can’t stay here. You can’t!_ Stevens thought, frustrated with everything but especially with himself. _Just go back to Arrakeen, make your report and forget any of this shit ever happened._ Stevens shook his head angrily and continued forward. No doubt, he had plenty of interesting information to report to his superiors. They might give him a commendation. He may even get taken off this forsaken hell planet if he asked. Stevens had every reason to leave his captor and go back to his people, to what he knew and understood. It was his duty. _So what if I made a truce with him? My obligation is to the emperor, not to this kid. Besides, leaving him to die isn’t the same as killing him myself._

Right? Not the same at all.

...Right?

Stevens stopped walking and threw Paul’s backpack on the ground. He kicked it for good measure.

“FUUUUCK!” he growled furiously.

He turned around and looked towards where he had left Paul. Dusk had fallen and he had gotten far away enough that he couldn’t see the kid. He knew he was still there, though, lying on the spice-laden sand like carrion just waiting to be devoured by whatever desert horror showed up. Briefly, Stevens wondered if the spice was having a weird effect on him. Muddling his mind. Making him doubt himself. Something was distorting his thinking. Surely.

It definitely was not that gnawing feeling in his gut. It wasn't that he felt his worth as a man slipping away for breaking the truce. It certainly wasn't any kind of amity he’d felt for the kid.

Stevens stood there for several minutes with his hands on his hips and head cocked to the side. He was waiting for something. Anything. Nothing but the worsening, tightening knot happened. He sighed, picked up the backpack again and headed back towards Paul. 

He found the boy still lying there, exposed and unprotected. He knelt beside him and wiped the spice and sand off Paul’s face. It was a nice, pleasant face. He leaned his head down and felt the kid's breath on his cheek. Still alive. _Stupid face,_ Stevens thought defensively, but with an odd sense of relief. 

“There’s really gotta be something wrong with me,” Stevens muttered to himself. He picked up the long hooks he had discarded before and reattached them to Paul’s backpack. There had to be a purpose for them even if he didn’t know what. He hooked Paul’s pack to his own, doing his best to distribute the weight. He leaned down and lifted Paul off the ground. In one fluid motion he had the kid slung over his shoulder. “You better be fucking worth it, Muad’Dib,” he said as he began walking towards the cliff wall on the far side of the basin. The knot in his stomach loosened.


	9. Cast Your Lot in with Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is at the mercy of his own captive. Stevens makes a discovery that will either change everything or get him killed.

_Jihad. A jihad like humanity had never seen. It consumes the entirety of the known universe._

_“Muad’Dib! Muad’Dib!” The battle cry of his Fremen rebels. Fanatics. All of them._

_World after world falls to the rule of Muad’Dib. Billions die in the name of Muad’Dib._

****

After several hours crossing the basin, carrying Paul over his shoulder and all their gear, Stevens finally reached the cliff wall. It had been slow going and he had to stop several times to rest, but he made it. He went into the first cave he found. Fortunately for them, it was unoccupied by animals or people. It wasn’t very deep, but it would offer the protection they’d need from the elements and the sun. 

Stevens laid the still unconscious Paul down on the cave floor and looked at him. He swept the hair away from his unmasked face with the back of his fingers. Paul stirred but did not wake. Whatever this was, the kid was in it deep. Stevens stood and got to work setting up camp. He removed his stillsuit gloves and kept the moisture mask off. Probably a terrible waste, but it made work easier for him since he wasn’t entirely comfortable in a stillsuit. As Stevens set up, he kept glancing over at Paul. It seemed to him that the kid was dreaming about something awful; but he really couldn’t know of what was going on with him. He had to wonder if the kid would ever wake up. If he wasn’t, in fact, slowly dying. And if coming back for him had been a useless gesture and a foolish mistake. If nothing else, at least, the knot in his stomach was gone.

With camp finally set up, Stevens decided to go through Paul’s backpack. He felt more than justified to do so. The Fremen had gone through his stuff, after all. He studied the long hooks first and had a vague recollection that the girl had hit him over the head with something similar. He doubted these were actual weapons, though. They seemed better suited for climbing. He put them down and continued to pull things out of the pack. A ghost of a smile passed over his lips when he found his combat knife and paracompass amongst Paul’s things. He reclaimed those immediately. Remembering, he looked back at Paul and spotted the crysknife on his belt. He took the weapon off the kid.

Stevens slid the Fremen crysknife out of its sheath and examined it. It was a simple design and resembled a short sword in length. The legendary weapon was rumored to be made from the tooth of a sandworm, and was known for its devastatingly sharp blade. Testing the edge, Stevens had barely touched it when a thin line of blood broke out over his thumb, coating the blade. He pulled back his hand and sucked the blood of his thumb, thoroughly impressed with the weapon. He decided he’d hold on to this beauty, as well.

He continued to go through Paul’s backpack, finding food rations, a full water skin, med kit, stillsuit repair kit, another paracompass, fire starting kit, a slingshot, small rocks for ammo and a few other inconsequential items. As he was repacking, a small shiny object fell out of a hidden pocket. He fished it out of the pack and held it close to the glowglobe for a better look. It was a gold ring. A signet ring, actually, ovoid in shape with a large crimson inset. The inset was of a bird, a hawk. Stevens' eyes widened with recognition. As a Sardaukar, he was well versed in the Coat of Arms of all the houses, greater and lesser. He knew he held the ducal signet ring of House Atreides. His eyes snapped to the unconscious young man mere feet from him. 

“Well, shit…”

****

Paul woke from the dream vision trance in stages. It took several minutes, actually. The tendrils of the horrors he’d witnessed wouldn’t easily let him go. He knew it was the future he’d seen. A possible future. A terrible future. He’d had hints of it in previous visions, but this one had been so vivid, so visceral. He could still smell the smoke of fires consuming entire cities and taste the ashes of burned bodies.

Consciousness did eventually win out. Slowly, awareness creeped into his body. He tried to stretch his limbs but found he couldn't move his arms. He opened his eyes, the surroundings coming into focus. It was dark, but he could make out a rock wall. He was lying on his stomach, hands bound behind his back. He picked up his head and turned it. The soft light of the glowglobe illuminated a figure sitting against the cave wall a few feet away from him.

“Sgt. Mike Stevens?” Paul asked, his voice distant and faint. He was far too disoriented still. 

The figure nodded and made a _‘hmm’_ sound in response.

"Wha...What happened?"

"You tell me," Stevens replied, "You blacked out after the spice blow."

Of course, the spice blow. Recollection of events started to come back to Paul. All that spice must have triggered his prescience and induced the vivid vision. He was not yet skilled enough to control going into a trance when exposed to so much spice. He knew he had to work on that or risk this vulnerability again.

And what a graphic and dismal vision of the future it had been. Paul shut his eyes and exhaled roughly. A jihad. A slaughter. All in his name. No, he couldn’t allow that. There had to be a way to avoid such a horrible future and still protect what was dear to him. There had to be. Those tendrils began to wrap around his mind and he could feel himself going under again. No! He couldn’t get sucked up into a trance again. He had to be here now. He was tied up and in peril. He had to focus.

Paul opened his eyes and trained them on Stevens. The soldier looked worn out but alert in the way only trained fighters could be alert even when exhausted. Despite the altered state of his mind, or perhaps because of it, Paul mused that it was a good look on the big man. 

"How we get here?" Paul asked, making an effort to focus.

"I carried you. Obviously."

Paul took a moment to process that statement. He would have expected such an act from his father’s men in his former life or from his Fremen brothers now, but not from an enemy captive. "You could have left me. That was probably your best chance to escape.”

Stevens nodded. “The thought crossed my mind.” He shrugged a bit stiffly. “More than crossed my mind, actually.”

The implication was left hanging between them. Was their relation to each other actually shifting? Would the alliance he’d seen in his visions of this man actually be possible? But if that was the case, why was he tied up?

“So, am I your prisoner now?" Paul asked and he wriggled his bound hands for emphasis. 

Stevens was silent for a long time and just stared at Paul. He had considered so many options while Paul was unconscious. Now that the moment had arrived, there was only one thing to do. He held up the ducal signet ring. "I found this in your pack," he finally said. “You’re Paul Atreides.”

Paul sighed again. He put his head down, cheek against the rock floor. Foolish of him to carry something that can so clearly identify him around, but he actually found it difficult leaving that ring behind in his yali. It was the only thing of his father’s he had. It was the only thing of what his family had been that he had. 

“I am,” Paul admitted. There was no point in denying it now.

“Only heir to the late Duke Leto Atreides.”

Paul’s face hardened as he looked back at Stevens. The memory of what had happened to his father was still too painful. His jaw twitched before he spoke. “My father was betrayed and murdered by the treacherous Harkonnens. That makes me the Duke of House Atreides,” he responded with the authority he so rarely felt these days.

Stevens’ eyes widened for a moment, knowing he’d hit a nerve there. It was oddly satisfying and distressing at the same time. “They believe you dead. But you’ve been here all along. Hiding among the Fremen. That’s smart, gotta admit.”

“They saved my life, as I said.”

“And made you their messiah, apparently. That’s gotta be a wild story.” Stevens shook his head a bit, then snorted a chuckle. “I’ve been sitting here watching you nap and wondering, what wouldn’t the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen give to get his grubby hands on you?”

Paul tried to look unimpressed, unaffected, but he wasn’t sure he was pulling it off. Emotion threatened his clarity of thought as it usually did after a vision trance. The precarious situation he found himself in now wasn’t helping, either. 

“Is that what you intend to do? Sell me to the Baron for some paltry bit of fortune?” Paul asked. It took effort to keep his tone neutral.

Stevens shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Paul Atreides? Any reward the Baron would give to the man that brought you in would be short-lived… and so would be the man.” Stevens ran a hand through his short hair, dislodging spice and sand as he did. “Shit, then again, if he offered me a warm bath right now, I might have to consider it.” He let that hang for a minute before adding, “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you over to the Harkonnens. I have no love for those beasts.”

“Few do,” Paul agreed. “And what of the Padishah Emperor? You’re sworn to his service. Would you give me over to him to gain favor?”

Stevens thought for a moment. “Well, that is a different matter, isn’t it? It’s true, I’m just a simple soldier in the Padishah Emperor’s service. Not even a very high-ranking one at that. Turning you in might get me some favor - a commendation, an officer’s rank, maybe even a chance to retire early with a woman and a bit of land.” Stevens chuckled in the same ironic way as before. “But, more than likely, all it’ll get me is a slit throat.”

“Why is that?”

Stevens regarded Paul with a cynical look. “You say your father was murdered, your house betrayed, you must know why by now.”

Paul remained silent. He knew. They both did.

“Whatever happened and for whatever reason it happened, the Padishah Emperor and the Baron wouldn’t want your version of events getting out. The man who captured Paul Atreides would have undoubtedly questioned him. He would know about things best kept in the dark.” Stevens said and allowed time for it to sink in. “It’s just my damn luck. Here I got possibly the most valuable man in the whole of the known universe and I got no use for him.” 

Stevens unsheathed his knife and moved over to Paul with a look that was impossible to read.

Paul saw the glint of the blade as the soldier approached him. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Could he have been so wrong about Stevens? Misinterpreted his vision so badly? He could subdue the man, thwart his intention, with the Voice. What if, though, Stevens’ purpose was to kill him? After the horrid vision he’d just had, it was entirely possible that the only way to prevent such a future would be to die. No Muad’Dib, no jihad. One life versus billions. 

But Paul wasn’t a messiah, not really, and he didn’t buy into the hype. It was a useful contrivance of the religious seeding the Bene Gesserit planted on Arrakis generations ago. He couldn’t allow himself to be killed. He had much to do before he died. Debts to pay back in blood. He had to live.

Paul was about to speak a command with the Voice when he felt the blade slide between his wrists. He felt the slight pull on his arms as Stevens cut the rope binding them together. Just like that he was free.

For a moment, Paul was genuinely dumbfounded. Stevens wasn’t going to kill him and he wasn’t going to turn him over to his enemies. Deep down, he had known that somehow, but still the relief he felt at that moment was like nothing he’d experienced before. He felt grateful, actually, and unusually connected to Stevens. It was as if they’d jumped a hurdle together. He wouldn’t have to keep hiding his identity from Stevens, which he only now realized had been grating on him. Besides that, his trust and intuition had been rewarded in the best way possible. 

Paul brought his arms down, pushed himself up onto his knees and sat back on his calves. He rubbed feeling back into his wrists over the stillsuit. 

Stevens made his way back to sit against the wall. He put the signet ring in Paul’s backpack and tossed it to him. “All your stuff is there, including your crysknife. But I’m keeping mine,” he said, as he sheathed his combat knife.

“As long as you don’t stab me with it in my sleep,” Paul said only half-joking. He felt lighter, almost euphoric.

“If I stab you, Paul Atreides, it won’t be in your sleep,” Stevens retorted with a slight smirk.

Paul went through his backpack and pulled out the signet ring. He stared at it for a long moment before stashing it back in the hidden pocket. The time will come when that ring would no longer need to be hidden. For now, though, he had to be smarter about where to keep it. He reattached the crysknife to his belt and looked back at Stevens.

“Did you take the crysknife out of the sheath?”

“Of course,” Stevens replied as if it was the most natural thing to do. “Cut myself with it, too. Lives up to its reputation, that thing.”

Paul grinned slightly, relieved he wouldn’t have to draw blood.

Stevens watched as Paul settled himself on the opposite wall from him, then asked, “So, then, what actually happened here?”

Paul pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. He felt more in control of himself, but still not entirely sorted. He knew what Stevens was asking, but wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it just then. “Don’t you know? Weren’t you here when it happened?” It was a bit of deflection to buy himself some time.

Stevens shook his head. “My unit was deployed in the second wave. The Harkonnens were back in control of the planet by then. I’ve heard the stories, though. There are a lot of stories floating around. When a great house is taken down there’s never any shortage of gossip.”

“What are they saying?” Paul asked, morbidly interested. 

Stevens leaned back against the wall and thought for a moment. “Well, the popular story is that Duke Leto was getting too big for his britches. He was too popular with the other houses, both greater and lesser. They say he cozied up to the Padishah Emperor to unseat the Harkonnens and take their place on Arrakis. Obviously, he succeeded with that. They say that he was too enamored with his Bene Gesserit concubine and she muddled his mind and inflated his ambitions. That he wanted to be emperor and would betray House Corino. The Baron Vladimir uncovered the plot and interceded before Leto could act against the empire. A bloody battle ensued and House Atreides ended up on the losing end.”

Paul's mouth twisted into a grimace before he could school his features back to normal. “Do you believe that?”

Stevens shrugged, though he had noticed the grimace. “I haven’t heard anything to contradict that account. It is very one sided, though, isn’t it? I’ve seen the Harkonnens at work. They’re hardly the altruistic types. Probably one of the reasons why the Sardaukar have remained on Arrakis. A heavily armed and deadly buffer between House Corino and House Harkonnen. I figure, one attempted insurrection was quite enough for the Padishah Emperor.” 

Paul nodded as he sat back as well. He looked up at the cave ceiling. Disheartening to learn his family name had been blackened in such a way. Betrayal wasn’t enough. The memory of his father had to be defiled as well.

Stevens watched the emotions play out on Paul’s face as he sat quietly contemplating what he’d just heard. He realized then, the kid had not been this exposed and unguarded in their dealings before. He had, in fact, seemed unusually calm and controlled for someone as young as he appeared to be. Something had changed.

“So, what’s your side?” Stevens asked after a few minutes passed.

Paul turned his eyes back to Stevens. He took a breath to collect himself before he began to recount the events leading to the betrayal and downfall of his house. How his father had not sought the appointment to Arrakis and knew it was a trap. How he tried to maneuver around it. How he had tried to protect his family. How he had begun to improve relations with the Fremen. His plans for gaining what he called _’desert power’_. He had never told anyone everything he was telling Stevens now. Even he and his mother had not discussed certain events in detail. There had been no need, really. They had both experienced that terrible time together. However, hearing himself speaking of the events and of his father’s theories out loud made new connections for Paul, brought everything together in a clearer way for him. 

He went on to tell Stevens what knew of his father’s death, as well as that of Duncan Idaho and Liet Kynes. How he and his mother made their escape, crossed the desert and came to be found by the Fremen. He admitted his mother was also alive and had made her own place among the Fremen as a Reverend Mother. He even told Stevens of the sister his mother had recently given him. Alia, the preborn. Paul’s earlier apprehension to talk on this topic had vanished. Perhaps because he was still raw from the jihad vision or because his identity had been discovered, but once he started talking, he found he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. Not until he’d told Stevens everything.

When Paul was finally finished, Stevens raised his eyebrows and whistled low. “Wild story is right,'' he commented. 

If Paul’s version of events was to be believed, then Stevens guess as to what the Emperor and the Baron would do was probably right. They couldn’t allow such a story to make its way around the greater houses. It would cause doubt and suspicion with the other noble families, and there was enough of that already. It could even lead to sedition. It was clear to him that the truth of what happened here had to remain hidden. As for Stevens, he really didn’t have much of a choice now. Even if he hadn’t asked Paul for his side, just knowing he was alive would be enough to make him a liability. No amount of fortune or favor was an absolute guarantee of silence. Besides, why buy a man’s silence when it can be assured with a knife through the throat?

Paul yawned suddenly, breaking Stevens out of his thoughts. 

“How are you even tired after napping so long?” he asked. In truth, he was drained as well.

“Because I wasn’t actually napping,” Paul said wryly. “I was in a vision trance and those are anything but relaxing.”

“You really can see the future, can’t you?”

“That and more,” Paul said, quietly. It came out sounding sad, though he had not intended that at all. Then again, the brief euphoria of not being killed today had faded. He was sad and tired and, if he was honest, confused. 

“What did you see?” Stevens asked. He still wasn’t sure he bought all of this prescience stuff, but was curious nonetheless.

Paul took a deep breath and exhaled out slowly. He couldn’t do this now. He shook his head minutely. “Not now. I can tell you some other time if you still want to know. But I can’t now.” 

And there would be another time, wouldn’t there? Stevens couldn’t exactly go back to Arrakeen now. Not with this dangerous information he now knew. Well, not without running the risk of being found out and eliminated at some point. He would have to ride this out and see where it led him.

Paul wiped his face tiredly and raked his hair back. “Anyway, thank you... for not leaving me back there,” Paul added with genuine gratitude.

Taken slightly aback by the kid’s appreciation, Stevens simply nodded an acknowledgement but said nothing. 

“The sun will be up soon. You take the tent and get some rest. I’m tired but I don’t want to sleep. I’ll take watch,” Paul said.

“Watch? Isn’t this your tribe’s territory?”

“It is, but that spice blow is a big temptation to smugglers. If it was detected, some band or other might risk breaching our borders to harvest it before anyone else gets to it. Wouldn’t want to be caught unawares by those bastards.”

“Agreed,” Stevens said. He grabbed his backpack and got up. “Wake me up when you need to sleep.” He started to go into the stilltent at the back of the cave, but stopped. He turned to face Paul again. He waited until Paul looked at him, then said, “What happened to your house, to your family, it wasn’t deserved.” Stevens went into the stilltent and sealed the flap behind him.


	10. Took You Long Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic violent fighting and blood.

There had been no sign of spice smugglers in the early hours of the morning. Paul kept himself busy unclogging the vents of his & Stevens moisture masks. They would have to replace the filters but that would have to wait until he was back in the sietch. 

_“What happened to your house, to your family, it wasn’t deserved.”_

Stevens' words kept repeating in Paul’s head long after the man had gone to sleep. He had never really considered if what happened to them had been deserved or not. It just happened. It had been executed with cold calculating efficiency and great malice. As far as the empire was concerned, House Atreides had been eliminated. However, the Baron’s carefully constructed plan had not been entirely successful, had it? Paul and his mother had survived the trap set for the Atreides on Arrakis. He had a sister now, as well, to help carry on the legacy of their house. Others, too, may have survived. He had no idea what had become of Gurney Halleck, for example. He may even have a child soon. Whether they had deserved it or not, they had been beaten, but not destroyed. 

Paul, of course, had plans of his own. He was already well on his way to building that desert power his father had talked about. He had the Fremen at his back, for the most part. He was training them in the Weirding Way, while they trained him in the ways of the Arrakis. Everyday, Paul’s standing grew with the Fremen, while he worked to hone his leadership skills. All the while, his mother, in her role as a Reverend Mother, wielded her influence to their benefit and favor. Paul knew he would lead these people some day, and what was done to his family would be repaid a hundredfold.

_“What happened to your house, to your family, it wasn’t deserved.”_

Again, Stevens’ words echoed in Paul’s head. It was clear to him by now that some things had changed between them. Stevens could be trusted, to the extent that he wouldn’t harm or turn on Paul. It was probably out of a sense of self-preservation, but Paul wouldn’t count that against the man. It was natural and to be expected. It was, nonetheless, progress in the right direction. Stevens had a stake in what would happen in Arrakis now, and that was useful to Paul. 

_"I carried you. Obviously."_

It still astonished Paul that Stevens hadn’t actually left him behind after he blacked out. He hadn’t taken the best opportunity to escape he’d had so far. He had, in fact, carried him all the way to a cave in the cliffs. All the while believing Paul to be a nobody who was taking him to an uncertain fate in a Fremen sietch. Even if he didn’t completely understand Stevens’ motivation, the depth of the gesture wasn’t lost on Paul. 

Paul noticed that he was smiling as he finished up with Stevens’ mask. Inexplicably, he also felt far better than he had been after waking up from the trance. The darkness of that bleak vision of the future had lifted far quicker than usual. He felt foolish and immature, suddenly. His stomach growled, saving him from further embarrassment, even if it was just in his own estimation. 

He decided to try his luck at hunting, mostly to further distract himself from uncomfortable realizations. Ordinarily, Paul was a decent hunter, but he was accustomed to big game such as boar. On Arrakis, everything was different from his home planet of Caladan, though. There was relatively no big game to speak of here. Desert hare, squirrels and other small rodents were the most abundant. Small game of that type required a different type of hunting strategy. Snares and traps would work best, but he didn’t have those. The slingshot would have to do.

Paul stuck mostly to the cliffs as he searched for game, staying within the shadows it cast. Desert creatures were smart and tended to stay out of the sun during the day. It was early enough, however, that something was bound to be scurrying about searching for breakfast as well. He found many of the muad'dib mice darting in and out of crevices in the rocks. They were plentiful on Arrakis. He didn’t kill those, though. It didn’t seem right to him since he took his name from the clever little desert creature after all. 

He eventually came across a desert hare munching on a bit of vegetation growing in between two large boulders. Perfect. He aimed and took a shot. A short while later, he found another. 

He was smiling again as he made his way back to the cave, two desert hares hanging from his belt. Suddenly the frantic thumping of ornithopter wings broke the peaceful silence. Paul quickly ducked under a rock ledge to avoid detection. Three ornithopters flew overhead in the direction of where the spice blow had occurred. It was followed by a carryall lugging a spice harvester. Those were not official Dune spice miners. Those were smugglers. 

Paul let the aircrafts get a distance away from him before emerging from his hiding place. He made his way back to the cave as swiftly as he could while keeping vigilant for spotters and scouts. He found some, unfortunately, way too close to the cave where he and Stevens had taken shelter. Paul kept himself hidden behind rocks as he watched their progress. He counted six men in all from a smuggler clan he was not familiar with. Negotiating with them would probably be off the table. That many armed men was much more than he could handle on his own. If only he had a way of alerting Stevens of the imminent danger; at the very least, so the man wouldn’t be caught by surprise. 

****

A rhythmic rattling sound intruded into Stevens’ sleeping mind. Before that, his sleep had been quite tranquil for once. He woke up as the sound got louder. He recognized it immediately as ornithopter wings. Thanks to reflexes sharpened by a lifetime of training, Stevens was up and out of the stilltent, weapon in hand, in a flash. The cave was empty, save for their stuff. Where was Paul? He made his way cautiously to the cave entrance just in time to see three ornithopters fly over. A much larger carryall aircraft followed after that. The smugglers the kid had warned about must have gotten wind of the spice blow. But where was the damn kid?

Stevens heard the men's voices before he actually saw them. They were laughing and talking loud enough for the sound to carry far. They obviously had no fear of discovery and were just making a perfunctory sweep of the area. Stevens moved back inside the cave, to the very end of it, taking position behind the stilltent. With any luck the men wouldn’t even notice this cave and just move on. He kept wondering where in hell Paul had gotten to.

****

“Hurry up, Malek! We ain’t got all day,” called Dissid from just outside the cave entrance. 

“There’s a camp in this one, but nobody’s home,” Malek called back as he kicked over a backpack.

Dissid went inside, followed by three of his men. One stayed outside to guard the entrance. 

“Fremen,” Dissid grumbled under his breath as he surveyed the area. He was hoping to not run into any natives today. “They’re probably not far off.”

Malek went inside the stilltent, noting there was more stuff in there. He touched the tent floor in several places until he found a warm spot. 

“Somebody was just in here. They gotta be close,” Malek yelled from inside the stilltent. 

****

Paul watched in dismay as the smugglers took interest in the cave where Stevens was sleeping. He moved closer, until there would be no cover left for him to hide behind. He watched as all but one of the men went inside. He had to act now. 

Paul took a calming breath and concentrated on his intent. He emerged from his hiding place and made his presence known to the man outside the cave. 

“Do not speak. Do not move,” he commanded using Voice. The tone, pitch and modulation of his voice had changed so that he didn’t sound quite like himself. 

The man was visibly confused but remained still and silent, dutifully obeying the commands given him. 

Paul was immensely pleased it had worked. He wasn’t anywhere near as skilled with the Voice as his mother was and, on occasion, had failed at it entirely. So far, so good.

“You are with me now,” he continued, “I am on your side. The men inside the cave mean you harm. I will help you fight them.”

The man blinked several times, becoming visibly distressed. Planting that sort of suggestion was tricky, but if it worked, it would help even out the odds.

****

Stevens emerged from behind the stilltent just as Malek was exiting it and straightening up. He grabbed the man by his headscarf, pulled his head back and slit his throat. Blood gushed forth painting the floor of the cave red. 

Dissid watched the whole thing happen. The attack had been done so quickly and smoothly, he was dumbstruck for a moment. 

“Fuck! In here!” he finally yelled for his other men as Malek’s body crumbled to the floor, twitching as the man died. He drew his lasgun and pointed it at the attacker.

Stevens ducked back behind the stilltent, narrowly avoiding being hit.

Just as he was about to fire again, Dissid heard a scream from behind him. He turned and watched one of his own men, Remy, stab another in the back. From behind him, a young Fremen man emerged and finished the wounded man off with a savage slash of his crysknife. 

“Remy, what the hell are you doing?!” Dissid yelled, infuriated. Confusion broke out among the smugglers. Weapons were drawn, but the attacks coming from two fronts was enough to disorient them for a few seconds.

A few seconds was all that Stevens needed. He saw his opportunity and rushed at the man that had fired the lasgun at him while he was distracted. Bodies collided hard as Stevens knocked Dissid to the ground, the lasgun flying out of his grip. This smuggler wouldn’t be an easy kill, however. He grabbed Stevens’ wrist, keeping the knife away as he elbowed the big man on the jaw. The force of the blow stunned Stevens momentarily. It gave Dissid the advantage and he managed to roll Stevens off of him and onto his side. The two grappled each other with deadly intent.

Using the Weirding Way fighting style, Paul moved so fast that it was difficult for the startled smugglers to keep up with him. He engaged the man closest to him and managed to disarm him, sending his lasgun scattering across the cave floor. The man pulled out a knife and came at Paul who parried the attacks with practiced efficiency. That was until Paul came too close to the body of the man Remy had killed and momentarily lost his footing. It was enough for his opponent to land a cut to his upper left arm, slicing through his robes, stillsuit and flesh. Paul winced, sucking in air reflexively. He managed to dodge a second attack which left the other man off-balance. Paul saw his opening. He lunged and landed a deep jab into the man’s side. The crysknife sliced through flesh viciously; but this was a big, burly man and he didn’t go down.

Remy, who was now coming out of Paul’s control, found himself unwittingly fighting another of his own men. “Wait, wait, Kaldo, stop!” he cried out as the other man furiously slashed at him with his knife. Kaldo managed to land a good cut to Remy’s thigh, who then went down on one knee. “Stop!”

“Filthy traitor!” Kaldo growled. He pulled out his laspistol, aimed it and shot Remy in the head. 

Having gotten the upper hand once more, Stevens straddled Dissid’s midsection. He rained blow after blow on the man’s face until he loosened his grip on Stevens’ knife arm. Stevens finished it with a savage thrust of the blade into the man’s chest. He turned just as two of the smugglers were fighting each other. One shot the other, then turned his laspistol to Paul who was busy with a smuggler of his own. Stevens changed grip on his knife, grabbed it by its bloody blade and threw it towards the man with the laspistol. It landed in his right shoulder. He screamed, reeled back and missed his shot at Paul. Stevens rushed the wounded man and body slammed him against the cave wall, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He pulled the knife out of the man’s shoulder, then stabbed him twice in the stomach. The man dropped to the ground, holding his bleeding stomach as he died.

Paul was vaguely aware of the fights going on around him as he fought his own opponent. The man was bleeding out from the stab wound Paul had dealt to his side, but he continued to rush at Paul. The younger man easily out maneuvered him. Finally, Paul saw an opening and drove the crysknife through the man’s neck, ending the fight.

Stevens watched as Paul finished his opponent with deadly grace. He couldn’t help but be impressed, realizing Paul hadn’t been idly boasting about his fighting prowess. The kid could handle himself. He supposed it was to be expected of a Duke’s son. Stevens cleaned the blade of his knife on the clothes of his fallen opponent, then slid it back into its sheath.

“Took you long enough,” Stevens joked as he would have done with his Sardaukar brothers.

Paul didn’t react. He simply stood there in the middle of the carnage, breathing hard with a deathgrip on his bloodied crysknife. His face, solemn and brooding.

Stevens came to stand before Paul. He took notice of Paul’s bleeding arm first, but it was the look on his face that gave the soldier pause. “That wasn’t your first kill, was it?” Stevens asked with a tone of concern.

Paul shook his head halfheartedly. “No, of course not. I just don’t like it.”

At this point in Stevens’ life, killing people wasn’t an issue. It didn’t even raise his blood pressure anymore. Sardaukar couldn’t have second thoughts or regrets about their work. But that didn’t mean he didn’t understand and even appreciate, to a degree, another man’s reluctance to take a life. It was a dreadful thing to have to do, even when necessary. He also understood that dwelling on this would be no good for the boy.

“What’s that?” he asked, motioning to the hares still dangling from Paul’s belt.

Paul blinked, looked down at the hares, then back up at Stevens. “Breakfast,” he answered.

Stevens huffed out a small chuckle, grinning broadly.

****

After the fight with the smugglers, Paul insisted they get out of there fast. He was certain more smugglers would eventually show up to look for their missing comrades. They piled the bodies inside the damaged stilltent, gathered their things and made their way towards the Cave of Ridges. Paul hoped it would be the last stop before reaching Sietch Tabr. 

Paul led them through a series of narrow passes along the cliff wall, parts of which had to be scaled. It wasn’t an obvious route and seemed designed to disorient anyone who wasn’t well familiar with it. The Cave of Ridges was on the other side of the cliff wall and wasn’t meant to be easily found. The entrance was well hidden and known only to his tribe. He expected they’d be safe there. He had been so determined on moving out quickly, he had only tied a rough bandage around his bleeding arm. It was soaked through now. 

Stevens had been keeping an eye on the seeping bandage on Paul’s arm for a while. It had been getting progressively worse. As for himself, he’d fared better than the young duke. He had a few more bruises to add to the collection, but no cuts and nothing broken. 

“We should stop and change that bandage,” Stevens commented.

“It’s fine. We’re almost there,” Paul responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was actually more bothered by the tear on his stillsuit than on his arm. He kept moving forward.

Stevens grabbed Paul by his uninjured arm and made him stop. "You're going to start leaving a trail if we don't do something about your arm, and then it won't matter how far away we get."

Paul glanced at the blood-soaked bandage and knew that Stevens was right.

"Sit down and hand me your med kit," Stevens said as he released Paul and pointed to a flat rock he could sit on. 

Paul nodded once and sat down. He removed his backpack and handed Stevens the med kit. He felt incredibly tapped out suddenly, but there was an odd solace to not thinking and just doing. 

Stevens took off his own pack and knelt beside Paul. He removed the bloody bandage and tossed it aside. He took a quick look at the wound through the tear in the stillsuit. “This is going to need stitches or it’ll keep bleeding. I can do it, but I’ll need better access,” he said as he opened the Fremen medical kit. He found it to be remarkably well stocked as he sorted out the supplies he would need for the procedure.

Paul shirked off his Fremen robe and opened his stillsuit enough to get his arm out. As he moved his arm out of the sleeve, the cut stretched painfully for a second. “You’ve done this before?” Paul asked, one eyebrow raised. 

Stevens chuckled mostly to himself. He looked at Paul, catching his expression. “I’m better at opening wounds in people than sawing them up, but I can be versatile if needed.”

“I wouldn’t have thought Sardaukar had a sense of humor,” Paul deadpanned. 

Stevens chuckled again, then got to work. He wiped at Paul’s wound with gauze, cleaning it of most of the blood. He was surprisingly careful and gentle as he did so. Paul hadn’t expected that.

“It’s not deep,” Stevens declared as he got a better look at the cut. He sprayed the wound with anti-bacterial disinfectant, then began threading the suture needle. “I’m surprised he was able to cut you. You were moving so fast. I’ve never seen anyone fight quite like that.”

“I was taught a variety of fighting styles, including the Weirding Way. It’s a Bene Gesserit martial art,” Paul said; again, finding words poured out of him easily when talking to Stevens. 

“Hmm, I’d heard those witches could fight. Never had to face one myself, though. I thought they didn’t take men in that order, though.”

“I’m not a Bene Gesserit, but my mother is. She taught me.”

“They let her do that?” Stevens asked incredulously. 

“She wasn’t supposed to,” Paul snickered, “She wasn’t supposed to have a son at all. My mother makes her own choices and is… very strong-willed.”

Stevens cocked his head slightly, eyebrows raised. He snorted a chuckle. He had to wonder how much like his mother Paul might be given that he had chosen to escort a Sardaukar prisoner back on his own, despite the obvious risks involved. “Alright, now hold still,” he said as he refocused on the task at hand. He began to suture Paul’s wound, again with extraordinary care and precision. 

Paul gritted his teeth as the needle went in and out of his flesh, but he did not move a muscle. He watched as Stevens worked on his arm. He didn’t watch the work so much as the man. The natural blue of his eyes rimmed by remarkably long eyelashes. The way the sun highlighted gold streaks in his hair. The strong jaw, bruised as it was. The long, deft fingers laboring on his behalf, for his benefit. 

_"I carried you. Obviously."_ Paul recalled the man’s words yet again.

Yes, Stevens was filthy and smelled of blood and rancid spice and sweat. They both did. But something about this man undoubtedly called to Paul. Appealed to him. Felt deeply familiar. Appeared to be seemingly fated. He had only experienced this with one other person before, and she was waiting for him back at the sietch. 

Ten stitches later, the wound was closed. Stevens dabbed at the line of stitches again with gauze and gave it another spritz of the anti-bacterial spray before he wrapped Paul’s upper arm with a clean bandage. “There. It ain’t pretty, but at least you won’t be leaving a blood trail for anyone to follow.”

Stevens glanced at Paul’s face then and caught the look in those nearly blue within blue eyes. “You alright?” he asked quietly. Silence seemed to stretch out forever between them, though it was only a few seconds.

Paul was about to say something, but the words dried up in his throat. His lower lip quivered almost imperceptibly before he nervously sucked it in between his teeth. He wanted so much to reach out, but dared not move.

Stevens knelt up, so he was at a level with Paul. An inherent sort of instinct drove him. Without pausing, he leaned in closer, tilting his head to the side. Eyes half-lidded, he pressed a kiss to one corner of Paul’s mouth. The trapped lower lip was released as the boy sighed shakily against his cheek. It felt like a reward. Stevens moved back just a fraction of an inch.

Paul closed the sudden gap in an instant, heart in his throat, and locked lips with the soldier that was supposed to be his prisoner. His mind raced in a hundred different directions; but for once, he paid it no heed. Much of what had been perplexing Paul fell into place now, even if it defied logic. It didn’t have to make sense.

They kissed slowly, carefully. Only their lips touched, sliding tentatively against each other. It was almost as if each man was waiting for the other to break off and react violently; or worse, yet, with indifference. They held on to the kiss, instead. Deepened it. Challenging each other with lips and tongues instead of fists and knives. 

Breathless, they finally parted. Lips slick and kiss-swollen. Stevens opened his eyes and fixed them on a dazed looking Paul. “Took you long enough.”


	11. Paradigm Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevens gets to see one of the Fremen's most closely held secrets. Paul and Stevens share a moment of intimacy, further changing and deepening their connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys getting busy, finally. The smut has arrived. ;)

It had been a strange day, Stevens had to admit. Well, it had been a strange few days, truth be told. But today topped them all. Only an hour earlier he had been fighting spice smugglers alongside the man that was supposed to be his captor. Shortly after that he had been kissing the same man. Strange was perhaps too insufficient a word for it.

On what remained of the trek to their next destination, a contented smile played on Stevens’ lips. They didn’t talk much on the way and had not mentioned the kiss at all. It didn’t matter. Stevens was feeling more untroubled than he had in awhile. 

It has been a long while since he’d been with anyone, and well near a lifetime since he’d had anything resembling a relationship. Not since Benji, actually. Having lost his friend at such a young age had been painful in ways no physical wound could compare. Since then, Stevens had kept whatever dalliances he’d had casual, brief and varied. That kind of pain was not something he wanted to experience again.

Not that he thought anything would come of one kiss with Paul. No matter how gratifying it had felt at the moment. Uncertain as his future was, Stevens wouldn’t consider anything as volatile as a relationship with a fugitive adolescent duke. Even if he stood on solid ground, it wasn’t in him to maintain a relationship long term.

Still, as Paul walked ahead of him, Stevens couldn't help but appreciate the way he moved or how his hair was tossed by the hot desert air. It didn't escape his notice that Paul was no longer eyeing him with suspicion and making him walk ahead. There was no reason to be wary. Stevens had no intention of harming the kid. And it was very obvious to him now that the kid truly believed in his visions. Whether they were true or not Paul was convinced that Stevens had a part to play in his future. That didn't mean Stevens was entirely safe, however. Paul was taking him to the sietch where the other members of the tribe would undoubtedly weigh in on the situation. It was yet to be seen how much sway this young Duke had over the Fremen.

A small test of Paul’s persuasion skills arrived earlier than expected.

Just shy of reaching their destination, the pair was met by a band of about twenty Fremen. The group was all men, all armed with lasguns, crossbows and of course crysknives. They looked like they expected to find a ton of trouble somewhere along the way. Stevens was immediately on guard as he moved to stand next to Paul.

“Muad’Dib! There you are, lad!” a tall, middle-aged man exclaimed as he came forward. 

“Chimon!” Paul greeted the man, locking arms with him in the traditional Fremen manner. “What’s all this? Stilgar didn’t send you out after me, did he?”

Chimon laughed heartily. “Oh there’s no shortage of concern for Paul Muad’Dib back at the sietch, you can believe that. One particular red-headed girl has been kicking up quite the fuss. But no. We’re on our way to deal with the smugglers at the spice blow.” He motioned towards Stevens with his head. “That your prisoner?”

Stevens stiffened but remained calm. He kept his hand off the hilt off his knife even though all his instincts were screaming the contrary at him. 

Paul sided-eyed Stevens for a second, then nodded once. He could only imagine what the elder Fremen thought of what he was witnessing. A prisoner being escorted by a single person, kept unbound and allowed to be armed was anything but normal protocol.

“He giving you trouble?” Chimon asked with feigned casually, gesturing to the blood on Paul’s robe sleeve.

Stevens felt both defensive and protective at the same time. He was about to protest when Paul spoke first.

“We ran into a smuggler scouting party. The bastards are getting bolder. Coming this deep into our territory,” Paul replied. He told Chimon the location of the cave they left the smugglers’ bodies and what he’d seen of their harvesting operation. 

Chimon nodded and threw Stevens another dubious glance. He turned his gaze back to Paul, gauging how best to offer assistance without questioning his command. “I can spare a couple of men to bring him in, if you want.”

“Not necessary,” Paul answered confidently, then added, “But can you spare one to run back to the sietch and report on our progress? Set nerves at ease?”

Chimon grinned. “I can do that.”

They saw the Fremen party off. As they walked passed, each man in the group gave Stevens some variation of a dirty look. He managed to keep his cool and not react, but was once again fully aware of the precarious position he was in. 

With the Fremen on their way and the tension finally alleviated, Paul breathed a sigh of relief. That could have gone badly. He gave Stevens what he hoped was a supportive look before leading them on.

The Cave of Ridges was a revelation to Stevens. He never would have guessed the Fremen capable of building anything more complicated than a few dug out dwellings along cliff walls, let alone something as sophisticated as this. The cave was actually a collection of chambers, all sealed to minimize moisture loss, connected by a series of tunnels. It was illuminated by glowglobes of varying sizes, as well as, sun tunnels which allowed natural light to enter the underground spaces. There were sleeping chambers where Fremen patrols could rest, a food preparation chamber and spaces for socializing. The air was not stuffy at all and even felt slightly humid.

As they entered one of the main common rooms, Stevens audibly gasped, shocked by what he saw. Vegetation. Actual plants were growing here along tall planting towers and wall planters. There was so much green around, Stevens thought he had to be seeing things. He walked up to a collection of fern-like plants growing from a tower planter. He reached out and brushed his fingers over the delicate petals. Paul watched him with a knowing grin on his lips. He’d had a similar reaction when he first saw this place. 

“How?” Stevens asked, turning to look at Paul, plainly confused and amazed.

Paul chuckled lightly. “Come on. I’ll show you,” he said. He cocked his head and motioned towards another chamber before leading the way.

They entered a room with tile flooring and a large, deep depression in the center. There were tables and cabinets, as well as more plants growing on planters along the walls. This room looked to Stevens suspiciously a lot like a bath, but that couldn’t be.

Paul moved to the far wall and pulled down a series of levers. A few seconds later the large depression began to fill with water from openings along its side. 

“It may not be the lavish bath the Baron might have given you, but it’ll do the job,” Paul said with a smirk.

“Holy fuck! Where is all this water coming from?” Stevens asked, wide eyed.

“The Fremen have been collecting and storing water for generations,” Paul replied. Again, Paul considered he may be speaking out of turn. Stilgar would surely disapprove of divulging this well guarded Fremen secret to a Sardaukar. For Paul, however, the idea of Stevens still being an enemy to be feared and distrusted was no longer a reality.

Stevens shook his head in utter astonishment. These people were nothing like what out-worlders thought of them. The empire truly had no idea what the Fremen were up to on Arrakis.

“That notwithstanding,” Paul continued, “we’ll have to share the bath. Running it twice would be too much of a waste.”

That was hardly a problem for Stevens; he was accustomed to being naked around other soldiers. Besides, he didn’t have anything to be ashamed of in that regard. He removed his backpack, set it on one of the tables nearby and wasted no time getting out of his stillsuit. It was an absolute delight just being out of that thing.

With the bathing pool full, Paul turned off the flow of water. “There are toiletries and extra tunics and sirwals in the cabinets. Help yourself to whatever you need,” Paul said. He expressly avoided looking at Stevens as he undressed. It was ridiculous, he’d already seen the man’s naked body. Somehow, though, it felt like an intrusion now. Or perhaps it was that his heart had begun to beat faster that made him look away.

Stevens got in the bathing pool, submerging himself to the chest and finding the water to be almost decadent in how good it felt. He sighed contentedly. This was a luxury he had not dared hoped for out here. He could already feel his muscles relax in the warm water.

"I'll get these on the fire," Paul said, gesturing to the hares dangling from his belt. He began to leave.

"Thought you said we had to share? " Stevens interjected.

"I’ll go after you," Paul replied and left the room. His heart was racing by the time he reached the cookhouse.

Skinning and gutting the hares helped to alleviate some of the agitation Paul felt. He got a fire going in the cooking pit and set the hares over the open flame to roast. He also got a pot of spice coffee going. He did it all on automatic as his mind couldn’t let go of that kiss. The feel of Stevens’ wind and sun chapped lips on his own, rough but tender at once. Why had he done that? Why had Stevens done that? The man had started it, after all, but Paul had certainly gone along with it.

It had felt good. Real. Proper. It had felt like all he had once wanted with Duncan. He’d been too young then, of course, and his feelings had been a mess. Duncan had been his friend, but he’d been his father’s man first and would never have done anything to trespass on his Duke’s trust. But Paul had, undoubtedly, been infatuated with the big, husky soldier. After he’d been with Chani the first time, Paul had understood the true nature of those feelings. And Chani was everything to him now in that regard. He’d never considered anyone else. Not Hannah, who was bound to him. No one. Not even during the spice orgies the tribe occasionally indulged in. He believed he would be like his father in that regard, completely loyal to his woman. Even though his parents never married to keep the possibility of an alliance with another house open, Leto had never given it any real consideration. But Paul wasn’t his father, was he?

When he had first met Chani, Paul had already known her. He had seen her face before, heard her voice in his dreams. After they had been intimate the first time, he knew this was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. His mother had not approved. Not because she disliked Chani, but because he was the heir of House Atreides. He was the Kwisatz Haderach. He was so many things and had so much to do. He had to keep his options open to alliances with other houses, as his father had. Her logic was irrefutable as always. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. He had fallen in love with Chani and she with him. They had been destined to be together. And now, what he was experiencing with Stevens, felt much too similar to that.

Once the hares were nearly done, Paul made his way back to the bathing chamber to wash up. Some time had passed and he wondered briefly where Stevens was. He entered the chamber only to find the soldier had fallen asleep in the bathing pool. It brought a small smile to Paul’s lips. He hated the idea of waking him up, but really wanted to scrub the grime of the past few days off himself. 

He undressed, setting his robes and stillsuit on a table. He’ll collect the water and drain the waste material later. He removed the bandage from his left arm, inspecting Stevens’ field medic work. He’d been right about it not looking pretty, but the wound remained closed and the stitches were holding. He got in the bath, kneeling so the water was just above his waist. He was careful to keep the wound out of the water as much as possible. 

The water was blissfully still warm. Heat was never a problem during the day on Arrakis. He faced away from Stevens, because even sleeping the man was distracting. As he washed, Paul kept reminding himself that he had to get a grip on himself. He simply couldn’t afford to lose focus. He had a monumental task ahead of him once they reached the sietch. Convincing the tribe that Stevens was no longer a threat would be an uphill battle all the way. 

Paul was thinking about how he would convince Stilgar when he heard the water stir behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw Stevens was awake and looking at him.

“I can leave if you want,” Stevens said in a low voice.

“You don't have to,” Paul answered much too quickly, then added, “It’ll be a long while before this opportunity comes again. Enjoy it while you can.”

“Is that right?” Stevens said with the most wolfish grin appearing on his face.

It dawned on Paul suddenly how what he’d just said sounded. He actually felt his ears burning. “I meant the bath,” he quickly amended.

Stevens nodded. “Of course.”

Paul turned around again and continued scrubbing his body. He tried to do his back, but it was difficult with one wounded arm which still hurt. Stevens slid over to Paul’s side of the large bathing pool.

“Let me,” he said, “you don’t want to pop a stitch.”

Paul looked at Stevens for a moment, unsure of what to say. The surface argument made sense, but he knew enough by now that wasn’t real. The real thing was behind Stevens’ eyes and that predatory look that made Paul feel both alarmed and intrigued. He reluctantly nodded and handed the washcloth to the other man.

Stevens took the cloth and soaped it up. He ran it over the back Paul’s shoulders, applying gentle pressure as he did so. He took in Paul’s body with hungry eyes. The kid was even thinner out of the stillsuit, but not scrawny in any way. He was all long, well-toned limbs. Certainly an attractive body to go with an attractive face. Stevens began to scrub further down Paul’s back, a little harder as he went. He could feel the beginnings of stirring in his loins. He wasn’t fighting it this time as he had after waking up from the sandstorm. 

Paul sighed almost inaudibly as Stevens scrubbed his back. He was slow and methodical, and it was setting everyone of Paul’s nerves ablaze. He let his head drop forward as Steven’s passed the washcloth over the back of his neck. He felt like he should be saying something but words kept dying in his mouth. The conflict of wanting this but thinking he shouldn’t actually paralyzed him.

Stevens scrubbed down to Paul’s lower back, noting the dimples just under the waterline and below that a perfectly tiny buttocks. He grinned to himself at the sight. He let his right hand slip down, without the washcloth, to cup a pert cheek and snickered at the little jump it caused in Paul. 

Paul’s eyes widened as he picked his head back up. He half turned to look at Stevens. The man’s face was the picture of mischief. 

“I owed you one for when you adjusted my stillsuit,” Stevens said, only half joking. He felt like he was dealing with a skittish colt and didn’t want to scare the kid off.

Paul did chuckle at that, remembering he had actually held the man’s groin in his hand. Perhaps, he had kept his hand there for a couple seconds longer than necessary.

“So, did you see this in your visions?” Stevens asked as he continued to idly run the washcloth over Paul’s now clean back.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Paul answered, turning back around. 

“Oh good. Then you're still capable of being surprised. I don’t know that I'd want to know about certain things before they happened,” Stevens said casually. He had discarded the washcloth and was now rubbing Paul’s shoulders.

“I… I’d rather not talk about my visions,” Paul said rather abruptly, “Not right now.”

“Fine by me,” Stevens said. “We don’t have to talk at all.” His fingers pressed deeper into the muscles of Paul’s collar, feeling the knots and tension there. 

“It’s not like that,” Paul quickly amended, unsure if he’d said something wrong. It was unusual for him to feel so turbulent. He couldn’t normally afford to spiral like this, not with everything that was riding on his shoulders. He had to be confident, certain, in control. He had a path and a destiny. Right now, though, Stevens was rubbing his shoulders and that felt outrageously good. “I just… damn it, I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

Stevens could sympathize with Paul’s confusion. If he stopped to think about this for a minute, it wouldn’t make any sense to him either. By all rights, they should be killing each other. They were on opposite sides of a quarrel that was bigger than both of them. Well, bigger than Stevens, anyway. He was just a foot soldier in the service of a man with so much power it was difficult for Stevens to fathom it all. And what was he doing now if not defying orders, forsaking oaths, and probably putting a noose around his own neck. For Paul Atreides, a fugitive duke from a fallen house, he knows very little about.

Stevens chuckled lightly at his own absurdity. He felt Paul stiffen slightly at the chuckle. He smoothed his hands down Paul’s arms and leaned in to rest his forehead against the back of Paul’s head. “We don’t have to do anything,” he whispered into the dark, wet curls. “Or we could just see where this goes…” He pressed a kiss to the back of Paul's head, then another to the back of his neck.

That voice right behind him, so close and low, those lips on his neck were maddening Paul. He felt weak suddenly and couldn’t decide if he liked that or if it was annoying. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths. “I’ve never… with another man,” he confessed, feeling the blood rush to his face.

That wasn’t overly surprising to Stevens. If Paul said he had never had sex with anyone, Stevens wouldn’t have found it surprising either. Those of noble blood could be remarkably prudish. They placed so much emphasis on carrying on bloodlines and legacies. Then there were the Bene Gesserit’s breeding programs they had to bargain with. It was a wonder if they managed to have sex for fun at all. 

“Like I said, we don’t have to do anything,” Stevens said. He kissed along one side of Paul’s shoulder. He was fully hard now, but kept that part of himself at a distance from his skittish colt. “But, you’ve thought about it? Wondered what it’d be like?”

Paul nodded slowly. He certainly had thought about it, and increasingly so in the past few hours. His hands were clasped before him, before his own erection. He took a shaky breath. He had to come clean because the guilt was getting to be unbearable. “I’m with someone.”

Stevens paused for a moment, then said, “That ornery little girl that hit me over the head?”

Paul grinned at the memory of tiny Chani standing over Stevens after knocking him out with her Maker Hook. That seemed to him like a lifetime ago. “Her name is Chani.”

“You love her?”

Paul closed his eyes a moment, Chani’s face appearing in the darkness. “She’s everything to me.”

From that, Stevens understood that Paul had lost his virginity to Chani. It was sweet, if a bit naive. He wondered if he had ever been that way. “Good,” he said simply, “this doesn’t have anything to do with you and her. That’s safe.” He resumed kissing Paul’s neck and shoulders. 

Paul wondered if that was actually true. It sounded awfully convenient, but he really wasn’t in a mood to exam it further. He liked what he was feeling now. He liked Stevens’ huge hands on him. He liked the scruff of his beard on his skin and his lips leaving slow kisses on him. He wouldn’t have expected a slow, soft approach from the same man who just a few hours before had been slitting throats and spilling blood with abandon. 

Stevens' hands had moved from Paul’s arms to his hips, under the waterline. He squeezed just above the joints before sliding his hands down the sides of Paul’s thighs. He noted every quiver of the muscles just under the skin. His own cock throbbed with delight, the head popping just above the water.

Paul swivelled around suddenly to face Stevens. There was fire in his eyes. He threw his arms around the man’s broad shoulders and leaned in for a hungry kiss, but didn’t quite make it. He felt Stevens’ arousal on his stomach and pulled back, looking down. Yes, he remembered Stevens was rather proportional to his height, but erect was a whole different story. It looked massive and way too big to comfortably fit anywhere. 

Stevens knew exactly what the kid was thinking. It wasn’t the first time he’d come across that particular look in a potential lover. “The Duke of House Atreides isn’t panicking, is he?” he teased, a roguish grin playing on his lips.

“I’d be a damned fool if I wasn’t at least thinking it over,” Paul said, looking up at Stevens again, meeting the challenge. He leaned in again, this time not stopping until their chests were flushed with each other and their cocks pressed tightly between their bellies. He sought Stevens’ mouth with his own, arms tightening around the man’s shoulders. Stevens’ own arms had come around to encircle the kid’s slender frame, locking him in place. Their mouths met in a furious kiss. The questioning, tentative kiss they’d shared before wouldn’t be making an appearance now. Paul heard himself moan into the kiss as Stevens’ tongue parted his lips and invaded his mouth. He ran long fingers through Stevens’ short hair, fisting his hand, knowing he had to be pulling. That made Stevens respond with a growl. He got his ass squeezed hard by those big hands in retaliation. 

Alright, so this was different than when he’s with Chani. Paul felt he could push further, get rougher if he wanted, and it would not only be welcomed but returned in kind. Is that really what he wanted? He enjoyed making love to Chani, losing himself in her. But he found he was losing himself now with Stevens in a whole different manner, and it felt good.

Stevens broke the kiss, breathless and flushed. With hands on the back of Paul’s thighs, he pulled him off his knees and closer, making him straddle him. He maneuvered them to the edge of the bathing pool, so it was behind Paul. He flattened his hand against the kid’s chest and pressed him back against the edge. The kid was red from his hairline to his chest. It was a beautiful thing to see.

Paul wrapped his legs around Stevens’ hips as he ran his hands down the man’s chest, feeling the coarse wet hair covering it. Again he caught an eyeful of that dick and his mouth went dry. He locked eyes with Stevens again, who had not taken his eyes off of him.

Stevens took Paul’s right hand, kissed the palm, then brought it down to his cock. There was a second of hesitation, but to the kid’s credit, he didn’t flinch away.

Paul took a hold of the offered cock, feeling it pulsing wildly in his hand. His own cock was pressed against his belly and feeling neglected. He stroked Stevens’ cock, pulling it towards himself before letting his hand sink back down again. Stevens shut his eyes, an involuntary shiver running through his body, as he exhaled a needful sigh. A tiny smile crept over Paul’s mouth. He liked that reaction. He continued to stroke Stevens’ organ slowly, more for his own enjoyment. He’d never touched another cock other than his own, which was still being neglected. 

Paul was nowhere near as big and strong as Stevens, but he was a trained fighter and his grip was formidable. His hold on the shaft was sure and true and determined, as if he held the handle of his crysknife.

It had been far too long since Stevens had come, even by his own hand. He was approaching the edge of his control much quicker than he had wanted. The kid might be inexperienced with men, but he was surely losing his inhibitions fast. Precisely why Stevens put his cock in the kid’s hand. Nothing to fear here. Well, not much to fear. When he couldn’t stand the build up any longer, he took Paul’s hand off his cock, grabbed the other and brought them both around the boy’s back, holding them there with his own. 

Trapped between the pool wall and Stevens’ solid body, hands held behind his back, Paul could only lean back against the edge. He indulgently tested Stevens’ grip, but it wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t get the change to test any more boundaries, as Stevens took his swollen cock in hand and gave it a squeeze. Paul’s vision went bright white for a moment as both pain and pleasure registered at once. He gasped loudly. Stevens grinned, satisfied with the reaction and began stroking Paul with long, slow movements. Paul let out a series of moans that filled the chamber. Stevens loved that. He increased the speed of his movements, but only just slightly. He really didn’t want to rush this. Paul was too beautiful in this helpless, wanting state to rush through it.

Stevens couldn’t know all the responsibility that fell on Paul and the subsequent pressure he was under, but he could guess. He surmised the kid was being pulled in a hundred directions for a hundred different reasons. All that weight had to be stifling, especially for someone as young as he seemed. Really, no kid should have to avenge his family’s betrayal and rebuild everything they’d lost. But Paul was doing just that, and the strain showed. To see Paul abandon himself to pleasure now was like a little gift to Stevens. 

Just as Paul’s moans got louder and he couldn’t control his attempts at thrashing, Stevens eased up on his dick. He shifted slightly so their cocks were aligned and grabbed them both in one big hand. Stevens was larger, but Paul wasn’t so far behind in size. He was rather respectable in that regard, especially now that he was fully erect. Stevens began to stroke both cocks together. 

Paul’s eyes snapped open and fixed on Stevens’ hand and their cocks. It was a mesmerizing sight to behold. The feel of the other man’s cock pulsating against his own was the most shamelessly salacious thing he’d ever experienced. Stevens’ hand sped up and the friction of the strokes was eased by the water. He thought he felt the pulsing of his organ match that of Stevens’ as if they were both only one piece of flesh. It probably wasn’t so, but he was too far gone to care. He watched Stevens rub them in tandem until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He threw his head back and dissolved into a series of needful moans and gasps. 

The sounds Paul made went straight to Stevens’ loins. He increased the speed of his hand again, biting back his own climax as long as he could. He wanted to win this battle of wills. 

In reality, Stevens was playing that game by himself at this point because Paul had no intention of holding back. He couldn’t even if he had wanted to. He could feel the pressure building deep in his gut as his balls tightened up.

“Ahhh, coming…” Paul managed to mutter in between moans. A few more strokes of Stevens’ massive hand and Paul was undone. He jerked his hips upward, almost coming out of Stevens’ grip as he released his climax just over the surface of the water.

Stevens’ eyes were glued to the young man as he came. The twisting of his features from nearly painful anticipation to blissful release was captivating. He continued to jerk both their cocks together through the orgasm, but once Paul had spent himself, he released him and continued with his own. It didn’t take long. Stevens came with a loud grunt that ended in a low moan. A jet of ejaculate breached the surface of the water as Stevens’ orgasm made up for time lost. The hand that held Paul’s wrists tightened reflexively before he noticed and eased his grip. 

“Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Stevens mumbled as he settled down from his orgasm. He let go of Paul's hands and just held him by the waist. 

The other man was already unwinding his legs from around Stevens and scrambling to sit up in a more dignified position. He was flushed and not exactly sure of what he should be doing, if anything. Stevens saved him from having to decide as he pulled him forward again and took his mouth in a sloppy but impassioned kiss. Paul returned it, relaxing against Stevens’ chest. It was such a comfort to not have to think.

They remained that way for a while, just holding and caressing each other. Stevens left lazy kisses all over Paul’s face, chin and neck. It felt good to just stay there in the fanciful luxury of water on Arrakis and share each other’s company without having to speak.


	12. Only Connect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Stevens make new connections and deepen their relationship, but not without some difficulty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've waited patiently for it. Enjoy. 😉

Stevens sat at the crude table across from Paul. He tore a piece of meat off the roasted hair and ate it. He and Paul had been sitting there, eating their meals, occasionally glancing at each other with knowing but hesitant looks. Getting intimate with Paul may have been a mistake, but it really didn’t feel like a mistake to Stevens. Then again, his judgement lately seemed to be way off given that he threw away his best chance at escape in favor of not letting the kid die alone and exposed in the desert. He’d even fought alongside the young duke. Sure, a shared threat was as good a reason as any to join forces, but that didn’t explain any of his other actions. It certainly didn’t explain why he’d jack him off in the bath or why even now Stevens kept thinking of throwing him across this table and fucking him into oblivion. Perhaps it was a convenient excuse, but Stevens was starting to think that there may be something to Paul’s vision about their alliance. What else could explain his behavior?

Stevens licked his fingers clean from the last bit of meat and took a gulp of the spice coffee. He looked intensely at Paul and said, “That was good.” He meant more than just the meal.

Lost in his own thoughts, Paul too had been questioning his actions. Regardless of whatever buried desires he may have had in the past, he had Chani now. He loved her. Of that he had no doubt. And yet, he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for Stevens either. Certainly not after their little romp in the bath. The memory brought a little smile to his lips.

Paul blinked and picked his head up when Stevens spoke. The man was looking directly at him now. The challenging stare sent a chill up Paul’s spine which made him sit up straight. “It was,” Paul agreed, also meaning more than the meal. 

Clearing his throat, he stood up abruptly and announced, “We should get some sleep. If we set out early enough in the evening, we’ll reach the sietch tomorrow.”

It was on the tip of Stevens’ tongue - how he wished they could stay here, in the Cave of Ridges, and not have to go anywhere ever - but he didn’t say it. It was an impossibility and rather foolish on his part to indulge in that kind of thinking. Wishes were for people who had things to look forward to. Stevens didn’t make wishes.

The sleeping quarters of the modified cave were decidedly Fremen in style. Glowglobes provided the light in lieu of sun tunnels. The walls were decorated with tapestries depicting scenes of tribal life, some of which seemed strange to Stevens. Intricate patterned rugs covered the floor where rows of sleeping pallets lay. Atop each pallet were bed roll cushions, pillows and blankets. Not luxurious accommodations but sufficiently comfortable. Beside each pallet there was a small locker and a low table. There were four rooms like this in total. Forty of fifty Fremen could easily bunk here and each would have a place to sleep. It still boggled Stevens’ mind that no one outside this community knew about the true capabilities of the Fremen. 

Stevens set his pack down by one of the pallets and sat down on the edge to take off his boots. He removed the borrowed tunic but kept the sirwal on, and stretched out on the pallet. It had clearly been made for someone smaller than him as his feet dangled off the edge. All the sleeping spaces were identical, though, so he’d have to make it work. He turned on his side and bent his knees a bit until his feet were on the pallet.

Paul turned off most of the glowglobes, but left a couple still on. He took a pallet two down from Stevens, on the same row. His was the closest to the entrance. He set his pack down, kicked off his own boots and laid down to sleep. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept since the vision trance and that hadn’t been exactly restful. He closed his eyes and hoped sleep would find him quickly. 

Twenty minutes later and sleep still eluded Paul. He kept thinking back to the bathing pool. To Stevens’ hands on his body, on his organ. His lips on his lips, on his neck. On how Stevens’ strikingly male body felt against his own. The roughness of his caresses. The hair on his body. The stubble on his face. The heady scent of him, a mixture of clean sweat, wood smoke and leather. It was very nearly maddening. His cock thought it was all great, though, and began to respond enthusiastically. Annoyed, Paul turned to lay on his side. He opened his eyes and saw Stevens was watching him with those demanding eyes.

They stared at each other in the dimly lit room. It was very quiet with only the soft hum of the glowglobes in the background. Paul couldn’t break Stevens’ eye lock on him. He didn’t want to, either. His mouth went dry and his heartbeat quickened from the look in those blue eyes. He couldn’t stand the tension any longer. He sat up.

Stevens leaned up on his elbow in response, fierce eyes still on Paul. If the kid came over to him, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. His cock was already throbbing awake from just the thought of Paul coming to him.

Paul pouted lightly before ducking his head a bit. He had a decision to make here: ignore his feelings and desire or plunge headfirst into them regardless of where they may take him. He had already started on that route, hadn’t he? Surely, there was still time to turn back, if he wanted. He felt the pull towards Stevens as if it was an actual physical tether; though, he didn’t believe it had anything to do with the vision he had of him or what the man’s role might be in his future. This was something entirely different. He craved that man’s body. He wanted to feel him on top of him, inside of him. Paul shook his head minutely, thinking he must be losing his mind. 

Stevens didn’t speak, didn’t move as Paul sat on the edge of his pallet. He was a little nervous the kid wouldn’t come over to him. He considered making the first move again. He had no problem with that, but really wanted it to be Paul to do it this time.

Picking his head back up, Paul looked at Stevens with determination. He stood up and began to make his way around the two sleeping pallets that separated them. 

“Stop,” Stevens said abruptly.

Paul stopped dead in his tracks, blue within blue eyes wide with concern. Had he misread that stare?

“If you come over here, you should know, I intend to fuck you,” Stevens continued, his voice soft and low and intimate. “If you don’t want that, get back in your bunk. But, if you do, then we’ll need something for lubrication.”

At this point, after all he’s seen in both the real world and in his visions, Paul didn’t think he could be shocked anymore. He was wrong. Stevens shocked him with his brazen manner. Who talked like that? And how presumptive of the man to assume that’s why Paul had gotten up. Maybe he needed to relieve himself? He didn’t know! Except that he did know. They both did. It was what Paul wanted, and it sent a fire through his loins to hear that’s what Stevens wanted as well. But what was this business of lubrication?

“What do you mean?” Paul asked, finally finding his voice.

Stevens smirked playfully. He liked this kid, especially when he looked genuinely puzzled like that. It was endearing in a way that few things were for Stevens. “I know we’re in the desert and everything’s dry as a bone, but it’d be a better time for both of us if I didn’t go in dry.”

Paul could have kicked himself for not thinking of that. “Oh, right, of course…” Paul said. He looked around, but couldn’t see anything that could be used for such a purpose. Then he spotted an earthenware jar on a low table on the far side of the room. He went to get it, moving perhaps a little too quickly. He grabbed the jar and walked directly to Stevens’ pallet, committing himself without even noticing. 

“What is it?” Stevens asked.

“Tallow,” Paul answered, “We use it to keep leather from cracking and to soothe dry skin. Will it do?”

Stevens smiled and nodded. “It’ll do.” He shifted backward to make room for Paul to get in next to him.

Paul set the jar on the end table and got in, laying down on his back. The narrow pallet was certainly not made for two, which meant there was literally no room between their bodies. 

Stevens looked down at Paul, his expression less voracious and more excited and a bit anxious. He placed his hand on the young man’s chest and felt his heart racing under the coarse tunic. It gladdened him his heart wasn’t the only one going wild. He let his hand travel down Paul’s long torso until it came to a stop over his belly. He leaned down and kissed Paul’s forehead just over his left temple. Then kissed him again on his cheek. He laid little kisses over the boy’s face until he reached his lips where he just hovered, barely touching their mouths together. 

The contrast in Stevens was a curious wonder to Paul. The man could be rough, curt and combative; but here in this context he was patient, conscientious and so gentle it defied belief. Paul found his arms twining around Stevens’ neck and back all on their own. When the man stopped just short of kissing his mouth, he didn’t hesitate to close the distance. He pulled himself up and kissed Stevens hungrily, parting his lips with his tongue and letting it delve inside the other’s mouth.

Paul’s easy, familiar willingness was all the encouragement Stevens needed. He let his hand slide down the side of Paul’s belly and under the small of his back, the other went around his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. He leaned down, letting his chest rest on Paul as one of his legs slipped between the boy’s legs. He could feel the half hard organ under his thigh as he moved it ever so slowly. 

Paul made mild, pleasant sounds as they kissed while Stevens applied pressure to his swelling member. He could feel the other man’s erection against his hip. They were certainly in agreement and heading in the same direction. They kissed, hungrily exploring each other’s lips and mouths with leisurely resolve. Stevens' hand that had been on his back had now travelled to Paul’s neck, where he massaged his throat, applying just enough pressure to be noticed. He made soft, breathy noises of his own. After what seemed like an eternity and yet a mere instant, Stevens pulled back slightly. They were both breathing heavily.

“This is in the way,” Stevens whispered as he began to pull the tunic up Paul’s body. The young man was eager to help and was soon free of all his clothing. Stevens took a long, appreciative look at the body before him. Truly a wonder that it was virtually unmarked by scars or blemishes, and smooth with only a sprinkling of body hair. Tiny dark pink nipples stood out against remarkably pale skin. This was the body of a privileged youth who had not been exposed to life’s brutality, yet. That may change now that Paul was no longer protected by wealth and title. An unusual swelling of protectiveness came over Stevens. He didn’t want anything to permanently mar this body. Even the recent wound to Paul’s arm seemed like a terrible offense to him now. 

Stevens dipped his head and kissed along Paul’s collar bone. His hand freely roamed over his chest and abdomen. Paul tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat to Stevens who immediately took advantage and began laying heated, nipping kisses along the long column of his neck. 

Paul was lost in a sea of sensations now. It all felt so right. Being like this, naked in this man’s arms, his mouth savoring him with such relish. He wanted to be explored as much as he wanted to explore the other’s body himself. He shouldn’t be so fascinated by Stevens; they were both men, after all. They had all the same parts. Still, he couldn’t help but be captivated by him. They were the same but different, and it thrilled Paul. 

Stevens began sucking on the side of Paul’s neck, just under his ear. The sound of his mouth and Paul’s corresponding moans seemed almost too loud in the stillness of the room. Stevens kept at it, determined to leave a mark - his mark - on that pale, smooth skin. He pulled back to examine his work and was more than satisfied with the blooming pink bruise.

Paul had snuck one of his hands under Stevens’ sirwal. He squeezed the muscular ass as Stevens sucked on his neck. He knew that would leave a mark, but couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment. “Take this off,” he murmured and began pushing the sirwal off Stevens’ hips. 

Stevens chuckled softly as he sat up. “Thought you’d never ask.” In a flurry of hasty movements, he finished what Paul had started and discarded the garment on the floor.

Paul leaned up on his elbows to watch Stevens undress. He reached out and touched the man’s broad chest, fingers splayed out. He rubbed up and down and over each peck mesmerized as the soft chest hair moved under his fingers. His hand slid down over Stevens’ ribs. There was a long, faded scar on the left side. He traced it with his thumb. He slid his hand over Stevens’ right arm, finding another scar on his bicep just under his shoulder. This was the body of a well trained, well seasoned fighter. Paul briefly wondered how many battles Stevens had fought in, how many wounds he’d received, how many near death experiences he might have had. 

Paul proceeded to slide his hand down Stevens’ flat stomach and through the dusting of dark gold hairs above his groin. The man’s cock, even only half hard was an impressive sight to behold. It’s not like Paul hadn’t seen other men naked; he had, of course. Still, Stevens was in a class of his own in this regard. He bypassed the tempting rod for a moment in favor of going lower. He cupped the man’s balls, feeling the heat and weight of them on his palm, and massaged them gently. That got him a very gratifying low moan from Stevens. He smiled faintly at that, then brought his hand back to Stevens’ cock. He caressed it at first, then stroked it more forcefully, letting the skin slide through his fingers. 

Stevens let Paul play with him for a little while, watching as the boy’s long fingers moved up and down his shaft. Once his breathing picked up and his cock began to bead with precum, he took Paul’s hand off himself and made him lay back down. He bent over Paul’s chest and kissed down the center, then over to each side. He licked each nipple, sucked at them and nibbled them with his lips, leaving them wet and erect as he moved down to his belly. 

Paul couldn’t help but squirm as Stevens’ mouth played over his nipples. It was all too brief and left him wanting more. A promise more than a tease. He watched as Stevens moved further down his body, leaving a trail of heated skin in his wake. He anticipated with impatience what Stevens would do next.

Nothing. Stevens didn’t do anything but rest his head against Paul's stomach. He was very careful that no part of him touched Paul’s swollen cock. He just stayed there, holding the boy’s hips.

Paul sighed and waited. His hands moved from Stevens’ shoulders to his head. Fingers carded over the short blond hair. This was taking way too long. Long enough that Paul got a wee bit annoyed. 

“Do something,” he finally said.

Stevens picked his head up. A self-satisfied grin greeted Paul. “Do something like what?”

Paul rolled his eyes. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that teasing is rude?”

Stevens laughed. “No, never heard that before.”

“Goddamn it,” Paul muttered.

Stevens chuckled lightly then moved further down. His legs hung off the end of the pallet. He took Paul’s erection in his hand and stroked it in earnest. Playtime was over.

Paul arched his back involuntarily as he hissed in a sharp breath. Oh, but that felt good! He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank. 

Stevens ran his thumb over the head of Paul’s cock, spreading the beaded precum over it. He kept up the hand job for several minutes, easing up every time Paul got too excited, then picking up the pace again. He didn’t want Paul to climax just yet, but loved how increasingly desperate he became.

“Please, please” Paul murmured as his body demanded more. He was a young man; he didn’t have much patience in this regard.

Stevens released the quivering, swollen organ and sat up.

“Please, don’t stop,” Paul said, almost in a whine. He cracked open his eyes about half way to look at Stevens. “Mike, please…” If he had the capacity of thinking clearly, he’d probably be mortified by the pleading. At this moment, however, he really didn’t care.

It had been ages since someone had called Stevens by his first name, and even longer in that tone. It softened him a little. Even though Paul's grumbly pleading went straight to Stevens’ own cock, he didn’t want to rush this. “Shh, I’m not,” Stevens whispered as he reached for the jar of tallow on the table. Hooking his hands behind Paul’s knees, Stevens lifted and spread his legs enough to take position between them. He sat on his calves with the kid’s legs on either side of him, bent at the knees. He pulled Paul towards him enough so his ass rested on Stevens’ thighs and off the bed roll. He unsealed the top of the jar and dipped a couple of fingers in it. The tallow was the consistency of warm butter and oily. 

Paul let Stevens position him as he wanted. He watched with curious eyes as he coated his fingers with the tallow. Logically, Paul understood what the man was doing and what was to follow. Realistically, he was still very much an ingénue in this area of life. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Get you ready,” Stevens replied as he resumed stroking Paul’s cock, but very slowly and with a light touch. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb to the area between Paul’s ass and balls. He rubbed over it, applying increasing pressure to that spot, and watched for Paul’s reaction.

Stevens' languid strokes only succeeded at keeping Paul on edge, which both aroused and frustrated him as nothing else ever had before. Then, out of the blue, a jolt shot from deep inside him all the way up his spine. The shock took his breath away for a moment. When he finally breathed in, it was a loud gasp. _What the hell was that?!_

Satisfied at the reaction, Stevens pressed harder against the perineum and stroked Paul’s cock faster. “Like that?”

Paul nodded and whimpered so softly it was barely heard. His body began grinding against Stevens’ hands almost involuntarily. He was moaning now with each shuddering jolt. His cock issued more precum, coating Stevens' fist as he jerked him.

Once Paul was deep in his arousal, Stevens scooped up more tallow from the jar and pressed his index finger to the puckered entrance, circling it and teasing it and spreading the tallow. The boy’s behind was so narrow and his entrance so tiny, Stevens knew he had to go slow with this one.

For a moment, Paul felt terribly exposed as so much of his nether regions were not only on display, but were being fondled so wantonly. When the teasing began, though, Paul actually mewled with approval. He had little leverage in the position he was in, but he did his best to grind against Stevens’ teasing hand.

“Alright, relax now,” Stevens said as he pushed his index finger inside Paul to the first knuckle. He sighed softly at the heat and vice-like pressure inside Paul’s body. His own cock jerked and his mouth watered with the anticipation of being inside him soon.

That cool, slick finger slipped inside him, making Paul’s chest heave as his breath caught. He clamped his mouth shut at the initial burn of the intrusion and remained stubbornly quiet. Being the son of a nobleman and a Bene Gesserit, Paul’s education had been second to none. He was well versed in biology and human anatomy. Through his own _research_ , he understood the mechanics of this act. Actually experiencing, however, was not exactly as he had imagined it. _Relax? How?!_ Paul thought impassively.

Stevens’ hand sped up on Paul’s cock, pulling from the base to the head and back down again. He pushed his finger in to the second knuckle before pulling it back then pushing back in. The channel was incredibly tight and resisted the intrusion. It took some wiggling around but once he could get his index finger all the way in, Stevens introduced the second.

Paul jerked slightly and hissed at the painful stretch when the second finger was inserted. His hard on waned slightly despite Stevens’ efforts and his body clenched around the invading fingers quite reflexively. 

“You’re tensing up. Don’t. Relax your body. Bear down on my fingers,” Stevens coaxed as he worked his fingers slowly in and out of the taut passage. His other hand continued to jack Paul’s cock, but he could feel the erection fading a bit. That was really the opposite of what he wanted.

Paul didn’t trust himself to speak normally, so he said nothing. But he really didn’t know what Stevens meant by bear down. It seemed important, like something he needed to know. He did try to relax his body, but the burning ache was not the sort of thing that inspired relaxation. He tried, but even the titillation his cock was receiving was being overtaken by the escalating discomfort.

Stevens continued to move his fingers in and out of Paul’s tight entrance, but the resistance was hardly lessening. He turned his hand palm up and angled his fingers to once more stimulate the prostate, but from the inside now. When he found the sweet spot, the change in Paul was immediate. 

Paul shuddered at the intense stimulation and let out a desperate, deep-throated groan. “Ahhh fuck…” Paul muttered in between gasps and groans he couldn’t hold back now. Each time Stevens fingers brushed that spot, it was like an electric current emanating from deep in his pelvis and running up his spine and down his legs. It was a bizarre pleasure that left very little room for the pain of penetration to exist. “Ohhh fuck,” he repeated.

Stevens took advantage of a distracted and overwhelmed Paul to slide a third finger inside him. He splayed them apart to widen the passage. On every other thrust, he nudged his sweet spot and kept him in the mounting stupor of ecstasy. All while the, the soldier soaked up the amazing mixture of pleasure and pained moans emanating from Paul. 

The unrelenting pleasure intensified within Paul’s body. He reached down and grabbed at Stevens’ thighs, digging his fingers in. His nails were short and blunt, but he was sure to leave deep, dark indentations behind. On one particularly solid jab to his sweet spot, Paul felt as if all the energy had been sucked out of his body and concentrated into one overwhelming orgasm. He shuddered violently and moaned so loud it echoed through the halls beyond the room. 

During climax, Paul’s body squeezed Stevens’ fingers together and made it nearly impossible for him to continue to move them, not without causing pain. Stevens angled Paul’s cock towards his chest as his climax issued in one long and continuous stream. The jet of cum coated his heaving chest and abs as the orgasm was milked from the inside.

The powerful orgasm left Paul a boneless mess on the pallet; flushed and sweaty, his head thrown slightly back and to the side, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. His chest rose and fell with deep, rapid breaths. For once, his mind was calm and silent.

As he wiped his fingers and Paul's chest clean, Stevens didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight than the one before him now. That he had warmed up to this kid, regardless of his circumstances, was beyond question now. Not wanting to waste the moment, he bent over Paul and kissed along his neck and jaw, eventually reaching his mouth. After a few seconds of sweet delirium, Paul returned Stevens kisses. 

“Think you’re ready for me?” Stevens murmured against Paul’s lips.

“Hmm, yes,” came the blissfully dazed answer.

“It’s going to hurt at first, just so you know,” Stevens said as he affectionately ran a hand through Paul’s hair, “but it’ll pass. Promise.” He kissed Paul’s cheek before straightening up again. He repositioned Paul a bit so his pelvis was more accessible to him. The kid was so pliant in the post-orgasm fog he probably didn’t notice Stevens had draped one of his legs over his left shoulder. He dipped his fingers in the tallow jar again and got enough to lube his cock. He smeared the rest over his intended target. Cock in hand, Stevens guided himself to Paul’s virgin ass. He pushed against the still tight ring, encountering nearly the same resistance as before. He pressed harder until the head of his cock began to split open the muscled ring.

Full awareness returned to Paul with the renewed pain of penetration. He looked down between their bodies. His own cock laid spent against his lower belly. Stevens’ erection was in his hand as he pushed for entry. _It’s going to hurt at first,_ Stevens had said to him. Paul tried to remain within the euphoric state his orgasm had left him in, but he began to worry this wouldn’t work. 

“Come on, relax your body. Bear down on me,” Stevens said with an edge of frustration. He was really trying to be patient and not rush. He knew his size and the damage it could cause if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t want that for Paul. He tried again and felt the tight hole start to give to the pressure.

It hurt. There was really no way around it. No way to ignore it. And no way to just endure it without agony. Was it possible that Stevens just wouldn’t fit? _But it’ll pass. Promise,_ Stevens had said. He had promised. It wasn’t passing, though. It was just getting worse. 

Stevens attempted a more forceful thrust and it was the last straw for Paul.

“Stop… stop,” Paul said in a tightly controlled tone, “I can’t.” He stubbornly held back the howl that threatened to come out. He refused to stoop to that indignity. 

Stevens did pause and shifted back to relieve the strain on Paul. He was sorely tempted to keep going but held himself back. He didn’t want to panic his skittish colt. 

Paul took a calming breath but it didn’t exactly work. He felt stupid suddenly. He should be able to do this. All the things he’s done so far, all the things he will do, but a little bed play was going to stymie him? Ridiculous. He wanted to get up and tried to take his leg off Stevens’ shoulder, but a big hand on his knee prevented him from doing so. He stayed put, but pride kept from meeting Stevens’ eyes.

Stevens saw the beginnings of regret and doubt on Paul’s face. It actually helped to mitigate his own frustration and made him focus. He eased his grip on Paul’s knee, then rubbed his thigh soothingly. “You have to bear down on me,” he repeated in a gentle tone.

Paul shook his head in frustration. “You keep saying that. I don’t know what that means,” he blurted out, nearly shouting.

Stevens closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking, _Of course, you don’t. Damn it, I’m an idiot._ Given how confident and skilled Paul came across, it was easy to overlook that he was an adolescent who, by his own admission, was inexperienced in sex with a man. He thought about how to best explain then said, “It means you have to push. Like you’re trying to push me out.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Paul countered.

“I know, but it works. Push against me,” Stevens said. He tapped Paul’s knee gently for reassurance. “Trust me, Paul.”

Paul did look at Stevens then. The man’s expression was open and sincere, if a bit flustered. Paul had wanted this. He had wanted this man so intensely. Had wanted to be taken by him, to feel him inside. Would all that crumble now? It seemed everything hinged on _Trust me._ Paul nodded once and said, “All right.”

Stevens began again, the head of his cock prodding the rigid muscles. “Push,” he coaxed.

Still a bit skeptical, Paul did as told nonetheless. As soon as he felt the pressure turn to pain, he pushed against the intrusion. 

Stevens felt the difference immediately. Instead of meeting resistance, his cock was nearly pulled inside on the first thrust. The sudden tightness and searing heat around the head of his cock were deliriously gratifying. His eyes fluttered closed as he purred a soft, “Ahhh, yes.” He paused there to allow Paul time to adjust and to just enjoy the moment.

There really was no escaping the searing pain, but it was considerably more tolerable. Paul let out a loud groan from deep in his chest as the head of Stevens’ organ stretched him. He fisted his hands in the sheets and screwed his eyes shut. _It’ll pass. It’ll pass._ he repeatedly thought to himself.

“Good, you’re doing good. Keep bearing down until it feels comfortable,” Stevens said, his voice slightly strained. After a couple of minutes, he resumed driving in. Inch by inch, more of his cock disappeared inside Paul. He paused a few times when Paul’s moans sounded pained, but continued until he was fully seated inside the other man. He squeezed Paul’s thigh approvingly and turned his head to kiss the tender skin on the inside of the knee. His other hand idly rubbed Paul’s cock against his belly. 

It was several more minutes before the pain faded for Paul, but it did pass as Stevens had promised. Impaled on the man’s cock, he felt the full length and girth of him pulsing wildly away inside him. He opened his eyes - which were moist with tears that would remain unshed - and watched Stevens nibbling on his leg. He untangled his hands from the sheets and covered the hand that was stroking him with one of his own. He wanted to lean up and take the man’s mouth with his, but knew he wouldn’t be able to manage it given the position he was in. “Kiss me, please,” he heard himself say.

The look Paul gave him, his words in that soft, pleading tone caused a torrential flood of affection to well in Stevens’ chest for the young duke. He was happy to give him what he wanted. He let Paul’s leg off his shoulder and bent down to kiss him. Heated, hungry, full of promise kisses were exchanged. Paul’s hands were on either side of Stevens’ face when they parted. He held him there for a moment, just looking up at him. “Do what you intended. Fuck me.”

That predatory grin was back on Stevens face as he rose up far enough to be able to move. He grabbed Paul by his slender hips and began to pull out slowly about halfway before pushing back in. With each thrust the passage loosened a bit more, making it easier and far more comfortable for both of them. Stevens broke out in a light sweat as he soon found his rhythm. 

The pain, thankfully, faded far into the background. Paul’s moans turned into pleasant sounds of passion that filled the sleeping chamber. He watched Stevens drive into him through half-lidded eyes. It was a marvelous sight. Paul’s cock took an interest again, swelling and rising. He grabbed himself and began pumping in time with Stevens’ thrusts. 

Stevens snorted when Paul began to stroke his own cock and slowed down his pace. He grabbed Paul’s hand by the wrist and pulled it away. Before a bewildered Paul could react, he grabbed his other wrist and pinned them both down on either side of his head. “Nah ah, not until I say.” He gave two hard thrusts of his hips to accentuate the point before resuming a less punishing pace.

Paul hissed through his teeth when Stevens pushed into him hard; he was still so tender. He tried to free his hands, but couldn’t break the grip. The fact that Stevens was so much stronger than him physically and could hold him down without much effort thrilled Paul in curious ways. If he was thinking straight, he’d probably consider it dangerous to be so turned on by being overpowered like this.

The occasional attempt from Paul to pry himself free stoked the fire in Stevens. As much as he preferred being in control, he also enjoyed a challenge. Paul had spirit. Stevens liked that in a lover. As he leaned over him, Stevens kissed greedily all along Paul’s neck. His teeth left a few more light indentations and marks on the pale flesh. He felt Paul’s now hard dick against his belly as he fucked him.

When he finally rose from Paul’s neck, Stevens was caught for a moment by the changing expressions of ecstasy playing over Paul’s face. It urged him to want to take more, to drain every ounce of pleasure from Paul and to soak it up, to possess him entirely. He dragged Paul’s hands up to the top edge of the pallet over his head. “Hold on to that and don’t let go,” he said in a tone that was not to be argued with. Once Paul had complied, he let go of his wrists and straightened up. He took Paul’s cock in a rough, calloused hand and began pumping it in time with his thrusts. 

Paul held on to the edge of the pallet, compelled to obey. He was convinced that some spell had befallen them and he didn’t want to be the one to break it. Stevens’ grip on his cock brought forth more gasps and moans from the young man. The dual bliss of being impaled and stroked threatened to overwhelm his senses as his cock began to leak precum again.

Stevens angled his thrusts so the top of his shaft brushed Paul’s sensitive sweet spot on the way in. The effect was immediate and dramatic. Paul arched his back and groaned out a string of curses. One of his hands let go of the pallet. Stevens’ reached down with his free hand and gave the kid’s balls a squeeze. “Don’t let go,” he reminded. Once Paul did as told, Stevens released his balls and resumed pumping and fucking him. He licked the sweat off his top lip and grinned, pleased with the kid’s easy obedience.

 _That was a dirty trick,_ Paul thought with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. His knuckles were white as he struggled to keep his hands over his head to hold on to the pallet. Each time his prostate was nudged, his body jerked involuntarily and he lost all sense of himself briefly. His cock throbbed in Stevens’ capable hand. His belly hollowed and filled with each ragged breath he took. As the internal and external stimulations continued, Paul felt his balls draw closer to his body. He wouldn’t last long now.

The pressure inside Paul’s body was magnificent. Each time the jolt from his prostate hit him, he squeezed the ever living hell out of Stevens’ cock, making him groan with his own pained ecstasy. He too was nearing the end of his control. 

“Come for me, Paul,” Stevens grunted and began pumping the hard cock in his hand with renewed vigor.

It was all Paul needed to send him over the edge. His torso lifted almost completely off the bed roll as another deep and forceful orgasm rolled through him. He moaned and gasped through his climax, leaving his throat raw. “Mike, Mike, Mike,” he mumbled like a prayer between moans. Having come twice already this day, this time there was much less issue but still enough to leave a streak across his chest.

Stevens watched the boy climax through the fog of his own mounting pleasure. Once Paul’s inner muscles constricted with orgasm, he paused driving into him. It was just too strenuous to continue through all that. He milked the quivering cock in his hand instead, loving the desperate sounds Paul made as he was left completely vulnerable and bare in the depths of rapture. The orgasm subsided, leaving Paul spent and shuddering on the pallet.

Stevens let go of Paul’s cock, grabbed him hard by the hips again and resumed fucking him; pumping in quick, strong thrusts until his own orgasm overwhelmed him. He groaned and grunted his pleasure as he deposited jet after jet of cum deep inside Paul. He fell forward and supported himself on his elbows to keep from crushing Paul beneath him. His eyes shut tight and he stilled his movements as this peak began to subside. 

It was several long minutes before Stevens could move again. He raised himself up enough to pull out of Paul, which made them both hiss in unison. He chuckled breathlessly as he untangled himself from Paul’s legs and settled back down on his side. He grabbed the same tunic he used before and wiped them both clean again. Paul’s chest was still heaving with deep breaths. Then Stevens noticed something that made his heart swell. “You can let go now,” he said softly, fondly running a hand through Paul’s dark curls.

Paul hadn’t even noticed he was still holding on to the pallet until Stevens said he could let go. He did and felt his cheeks burn in response. Ridiculous that should make him blush now after what he’d just done. He turned his face up and to the side towards Stevens who was looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. Perhaps, they were both seeing each other for the first time.

“Thank you,” Stevens said sincerely. He leaned in and took Paul’s lips in a light kiss, then nuzzled his face before pulling back. The room was uncannily quiet now after all the sounds of sex and pleasure that had filled it mere minutes before.

Paul turned to lay on his side facing the soldier. He grimaced slightly as his body protested the movements. He didn’t say anything as he simply pressed himself closer to Stevens, wrapping an arm around the man’s back.

Stevens watched the younger man squirrel his way in for an embrace. He smiled and obliged, twining their legs together and wrapping both arms around the kid’s slender frame. Paul was still trembling slightly, so Stevens reached down and dragged the blanket over both their bodies.

Paul buried his face in Stevens’ chest, inhaling his scent. Memorizing it. He felt good, being wrapped up by the man’s bigger body. He was sore and tired, but he felt better than he’d felt in a long time.

As they laid there, Paul began to understand why he had craved sex with Stevens. It wasn’t that he was a man and exceptionally good looking. Well, it wasn’t just that. Stevens had given Paul the freedom to not have to think, to plan, to decide, to do. Paul was on the receiving end. He was the beneficiary of Stevens’ efforts to please and now to comfort. He didn’t have to be anything but himself. Himself in his truest form. Not a displaced duke, not a messiah, not the Kwisatz Haderach. He didn’t have to be any of the roles that had been thrust upon him. He hadn’t really given much thought to what a burden it all was before. There hadn’t been time. There hadn’t been much of a break to think about anything but what had to be done. He didn’t have to think of any of that now. Stevens had no grand expectations of him; probably, not even small ones. He could be a normal man, even if he truly wasn’t. He could be normal with Stevens, to whom he was undeniably connected. He could just let Stevens take over their lovemaking and not worry about anything. Lovemaking? Is that what they had just done, make love?


	13. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Stevens finally arrive at Sietch Tabr. Revelations occur. Decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter in which a whole hell of a lot happens. Enjoy!

_Somewhere, a fire burns. Paul smells the smoke, though he can’t see the source._

_Once again, he is walking along the strange tunnel with the sharp, fang-like protrusions. He takes each bend in the tunnel, propelled forward by the screams he hears somewhere up ahead. That awful screaming again._

_He comes to a fork in the passage and stops. The screaming ceases, as well. The silence that follows is somehow worse. Stevens stands at the fork, the tunnel splitting in two different directions behind him. The tall soldier is dressed in the robes of a Fremen warrior and is fully armed like one. On either side of him are two small children. Fremen children, a girl and a boy. Paul can’t see their faces as they are hidden behind headscarves. Stevens holds each child by its tiny hand._

_“It had to be you,” says a voice that seems to come from the tunnel itself._

_Paul takes a step towards Stevens and the kids. The two tunnels behind the unlikely trio fill with flames, rushing forward towards them. Stevens kneels down and gathers the children to him in an attempt to shield them. Protect them._

_“NO!” Paul screams out as everything before him is consumed by fire._

****

For a long while after waking up, Paul watched Stevens sleep. His broad chest rose and fell gently with each breath. His face appeared more serene and untroubled than Paul had seen it before now. He looked amazing in Paul’s eyes, and was a far better view than the one his last dream vision had provided him. It had been disturbing, as they usually were. This one had not left him as shaken as previous ones had, though. There was something reassuring about this vision, even if he couldn’t tell what that was just yet.

Once Stevens woke up, they cleaned up - no luxurious bath this time - and got ready to head out. It was much later in the night than Paul had intended to start the last leg of their journey, but sleeping in couldn’t be helped. Not after the strenuous activities of the day before. It also couldn’t be helped that Paul’s step was even more irregular than necessary and his progress was slow. He could still feel Stevens lodged deep inside him and it took a great deal of control not to whimper with each step.

As they weaved their way through the canyons that lead to Sietch Tabr, Stevens noticed the change that had come over Paul. It was subtle but it was there. He had been quiet, almost sullen. Of course, Stevens had noticed the strained walk; though it was to be expected, he didn’t think it was what was actually bothering the kid. He really hoped it wasn’t regret. He hesitated to make any assumptions as to what having sex would mean between them. Paul had told him directly that he was already involved with someone else. And Stevens wasn’t keen on entanglements. But, somehow, he didn’t want Paul to regret what they’d done. Stevens had, for his part, enjoyed it and grown to like Paul.

Paul purposely took them on the route leading to the sietch’s main entrance. He didn’t want to sneak in as he and his band had snuck out at the start of this journey. It was important that he get this part right. How he introduced his _prisoner_ to the tribe would impact everything moving forward.

Paul motioned to Stevens just before they reached the place where there would be sentry lookouts posted. He removed his moisture mask to speak. “Hold up,” he said, and removed his backpack. He opened it and held it out before Stevens. “Your weapons. You can’t enter the sietch armed. It would be too much of a provocation to the others.”

“Because I’m still your prisoner,” Stevens said coolly. He held Paul’s eyes steadily, more convinced that something had changed. It was sobering, like a splash of cold water.

“You and I are passed that,” Paul responded quickly. “The others will take some convincing. Look, what I’m doing here is very unusual. These people are stubborn and unused to change. My mother and I have already upturned their world in many ways and in a very short period of time. This here, bringing a Sardaukar Elite into their home, might be explosive.”

Stevens stood still hands on his hips. He listened, but didn’t make any move to comply.

“You’ll get them back. You have my word,” Paul said earnestly.

Stevens stared at Paul for a long, tense moment. He considered the looks of disdain he’d gotten from the Fremen party just the day before. It wasn’t the first time he’d been stared at like that, but he’d been armed and armored then and in a position of power. He was an Elite, untouchable, invulnerable. That was certainly not the case now. It was more than a bit distressing that he was willingly going into a place full of people that hated him or feared him or both. If Paul failed to convince them… Well, what choice did Stevens have now? He had to trust Paul. Besides, a couple of weapons wouldn’t help him against an entire Fremen village in any case. 

Resigning himself, Stevens removed his combat knife from his belt and put it in Paul’s backpack. He removed his own backpack, opened it and took out the lasguns he’d taken from the smugglers. He put those in Paul’s pack as well. 

It was an enormous relief to Paul that Stevens had done as he asked. More importantly, the show of trust was not lost on him. He closed his backpack and swung it over his shoulders again. When he looked back at Stevens, it was with a small, honest smile. “I can’t say you’ll get a warm welcome, but you won’t be harmed. The Fremen are a righteous people. You’re under my protection and they will honor that.”

Stevens nodded, accepting Paul’s logic. He sighed heavily and looked up at the starry sky for a moment. Suddenly, he didn’t really care if Paul regretted anything. He reached forward, grabbed Paul by the shoulders and pulled the slender man against him. Stevens held Paul in an embrace that could never last long enough. 

Paul was momentarily startled, but went into the circle of Stevens’ arms easily. He wrapped his arms around Stevens’ back and leaned against the bigger man, head on his shoulder. The embrace felt like a goodbye, which was weird because this surely wasn’t a goodbye.

Stevens hastily took off his mask, pulled back a bit and found Paul’s mouth with his own. They held onto each other and to the kiss for as long as they could in the darkened canyon. The air around them felt heavy with stunted possibilities. Finally, Stevens pulled back, let Paul go and started walking again. Whatever would happen next, at least they’d had one good day together. 

****

The entrance to the sietch was impressive. Large and looming, carved out of the rock face of the canyon. Even in the dim light of the moons Stevens could make out some of the intricate carvings that decorated the facade. Depictions of giant sandworms were everywhere. Stevens wondered if these people worshiped the horrible beasts in some form. 

They were accompanied by one of the sentry lookouts that had met them as they approached. The man was behind Stevens and kept his Fremen spear menacingly at the soldier’s back. Being among these Fremen was going to be interesting if nothing else.

They passed through the large entry doors and Stevens’ senses were immediately assaulted by the pungent scent of spice along with other smells. He was glad for the moisture mask that hid the grimace he made. Glowglobes of varying sizes and intensities illuminated the main thoroughfare they walked along. Many alleyways branched off from it, leading to the various public and private spaces within the sietch.

There were only a few people about since it was at least a couple of hours before dawn and most of the tribe was still asleep. Paul was glad for that small blessing. Still, sietch life and work never really seized. There were sentry guards about as usual, moisture collectors that always began their work before dawn and the odd Fremen insomniac that wandered about. And, of course, his people were awake and already waiting for him. 

Chani was the first to greet him. She ran down the alleyway that led to his yali. She was dressed in a loose gown and robe, her water rings proudly on display around her neck. Her long tawny red hair bounced around her shoulders as she approached him. Paul quickened his pace to meet her. They embraced, Chani having to stand on her toes to throw her arms around his neck. 

“Usul,” she whispered in his ear so only he could hear. She said his private Fremen name like a warm welcome home and it filled his heart to hear it. Chani was home to Paul. 

When they finally parted, Paul took off his moisture mask and graced Chani with a gentle smile. He ran a gloved hand down the side of her head and over her slim shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He pressed his forehead to hers in the customary and appropriate Fremen public show of affection.

“The Reverend Mother is here,” Chani said with a raised eyebrow. “She arrived from the Sietch of Morning yesterday.”

Paul sighed softly. His mother really shouldn’t be travelling so soon after giving birth. If she had made the trip then she must have gotten word of his doings.

Stevens watched Paul and Chani with feigned detachment. His chest tightened uncomfortably and his palms itched inside the stillgloves. He stood back impassively, as none of this had anything to do with him.

Shortly after Chani, Harah made her appearance from the same alleyway. She was a handsome woman with kind eyes and a patient demeanor. Her robes were more form fitting than Chani’s and her water rings more numerous. She was a woman who knew her worth.

“Welcome home, Muad’Dib,” she said in greeting. Paul smiled at his inherited _’wife’_ and greeted her by touching his forehead to hers as well. Regardless of their arrangement and understanding, he would never do her the dishonor of shunning her. Harah, after all, had become one of his strongest allies in the tribe.

Harah looked passed Paul at the mountain of a man that stood a few paces behind him. Her deep blue within blue eyes widened as she looked Stevens up and down. It was difficult to tell if she was afraid or aroused.

Stilgar approached, flanked by Larus and Ishmael. The Naib looked tired and had circles under his eyes. Had he lost sleep because of Paul?

“Paul Muad’Dib, good of you to return,” Stilgar greeted and locked arms with Paul in greeting. He threw a brief glance at Stevens before returning his attention to Paul. “And in one piece.” Stilgar motioned with his head to the men with him. “Take him.”

Paul put up a hand almost defensively. “Where are you taking him?” he asked the Naib. This was Stilgar’s sietch and he was in charge, but Paul’s command wouldn’t be discounted so easily.

“Settle yourself, Muad’Dib. We’ve prepared a space to keep the prisoner as you asked,” Stilgar replied and nodded at Larus.

The two men proceeded to take charge of Stevens from the sentry. The man bowed out and made his way out of the sietch and back to his post. 

Paul and Stevens locked eyes for a second as he was escorted away. Paul truly hoped Stevens would keep his cool throughout. So much hinged on that alone. He couldn’t very well convince the tribe Stevens was an ally if he started a fight. He turned to Harah. “Could you see that he is properly set up?”

Harah turned her wide eyes to Paul now. She scoffed. “You’re sending me in there with that beast of a man?”

“You’ll be perfectly safe,” Paul replied. “I promise, he’s no threat to you or anyone here. It is the custom, to be hospitable to those coming out of the desert.”

Harah scoffed again, making a show of her displeasure a bit too much to be convincing. “Very well,” she finally agreed. She took Chani by the hand, “Come help me. You’re better with the knife than I am.”

Paul shook his head, knowing full well that Harah was just trying to goad a reaction out of him. One of her ways of showing fondness. He kept his composure and grinned at the women as they walked away.

“Come, lad, there’s much for us to discuss before the sun rises,” Stilgar said as he led Paul away.

****

The meeting hall was a large space meant for debate, discussion and conflict resolution. It was the tribe’s common space to forum. Even if most of the time conflicts and disputes were settled by combat rather than discourse. The hall was now empty save for one lone figure clad in a long, dark Fremen gown and flowing robes who stood by the large table in the center. 

The Lady Jessica turned to face the men that entered the hall. Strands of her honey gold hair hung loose around her headdress and her veil was pulled back to reveal the serene face of a woman in her upper 30’s. Desert life had hardly had an effect on her pale, smooth skin. She waited for the men to approach.

“Mother,” Paul greeted Jessica with a fond smile. He took her hands in both of his and kissed them reverently.

“My son,” Jessica said softly as she leaned forward and kissed Paul on each cheek. It had not been so long since she last saw Paul, but he seemed so much more a man now. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, but I could have come to you and spared you this journey.”

Jessica chuckled lightly. “I’m not an invalid, Paul. And Alia is not my first child.”

Paul’s smile brightened. “How is my sister?”

“Thriving. She eats and grows and eats and grows.” Jessica said. She did not mention anything about the child’s deep and knowing eyes or how she can already project her thoughts into her mother’s mind. Discussion of the child’s oddities was best saved for another time.

The three of them took seats around the table.

“How was your journey? Learn anything new about this man?” Stilgar asked, getting to the point in his usual direct manner.

Paul looked from his mother to Stilgar. “The journey was eventful, I must admit, and I do believe it was very productive. His name is Sgt. Mike Stevens and he is a Sardaukar Elite as I suspected. He’s only been on Arrakis for about half a year, but more or less confirmed the Sardaukar are indeed here in force and are actively working with the Harkonnens to subdue the Fremen.” Paul paused for a moment to let his audience absorb what he’d just said, then added, “Also, he discovered my true identity, quite accidentally.”

Jessica’s face paled and her eyebrows arched in concern. “Paul, that is completely unacceptable. The possible consequences of him having that kind of information are beyond disturbing.”

Paul raised a hand for calm. “He can be trusted.”

With deep concern showing on his face, Stilgar asked, “How can you know that?”

Paul went on to recount the events of his journey with Stevens. For Jessica’s benefit, he began with the dream vision he’d had and filled it in with more details from the other visions. He told them every pertinent detail, emphasizing the truce they had made, Stevens coming back for him after he had blacked out from the spice blow overdose and that they had fought the smugglers together. Obviously, he omitted certain more personal details of his time with Stevens.

“Any benefit he may gain for turning me in to either the Padishah Emperor or the Baron would be short-lived. His life would be in danger just from knowing the truth about us. He said as much himself,” Paul said in closing.

Jessica listened intently as her son recounted the events of the past few days. She knew from experience how powerful Paul’s visions could be and how accurate as well. It still bothered her that this stranger and supposed enemy soldier knew the truth about them. She couldn’t help but feel that Paul had been careless, even foolish to trust this man so much and so quickly. There was something she was missing, she could feel it. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

Stilgar rubbed a hand over his face and was first to break the silence after Paul spoke. “He’s here now and the matter has to be settled. What is it you plan to do with him?”

Paul took a breath, then looked directly at Stilgar. He’d spent the past few hours as they walked to the sietch thinking of how exactly to ask what he needed to ask of Stilgar. Now that the moment had arrived all his splendid arguments seemed hollow. He decided on the direct route because that’s how the Naib would proceed. “With your approval, Stilgar, I would like for him to be allowed to join the sietch.”

Stilgar sat back in his chair, one hand splayed on the table tensely. He should have expected this from the first night Paul told him about the man and his vision. Hearing it out loud was still unnerving. “This thing you ask, Muad’Dib, is no small matter.”

Paul nodded solemnly, “I know. I know the great burden I lay on your shoulders, my friend. I would not ask if I wasn’t absolutely certain it was necessary. He knows many things about me and about the Fremen already. If he can’t stay here among us, then he will have to be executed. That would be a mistake and quite possibly disastrous for our future endeavors. He has a part to play, of that I have no doubt.”

“Paul,” Jessica interjected, “Sardaukar Elites have sworn their allegiance to the Padishah Emperor. Most of these men are born and raised to be in his personal army for life. They have no other purpose or ambition. They are very nearly fanatical in their devotion. Some in their ranks even excel at espionage. We can not be sure he isn’t a spy. Paul, placing trust on a Sardaukar is like falling asleep in a nest of vipers. We can not take the danger this man represents lightly.”

“I have not taken anything lightly, Reverend Mother,” Paul responded, the edge of anger in his voice. “I am well aware that all you say is true. I also know what I have seen. When the time comes to rise up against the Baron and the Emperor and take back what was stolen, Mike will help us.”

“Mike, is it?” Stilgar commented deliberately, which earned him a hard look from Paul.

Paul’s reaction reminded Jessica of a similar conversation she’d had with Paul when the boy had confessed to her his love for Chani. Paul had been defensive then, too. “Stilgar, could I have a moment with my son?” Jessica asked.

Stilgar nodded as he stood. “Of course. I’ll send in some spice coffee and food.” He left the mother and son to sort out their disagreement. He had much to consider himself, and some time to do so would be helpful.

Once Stilgar left the hall, Paul turned hard eyes on Jessica. “What is it that you have to say that Stilgar can not hear?”

“I have nothing further to say as of yet. However, I would hear what it is that you left out of your story,” Jessica demanded impassively. She sat back in her chair, hands neatly folded on her lap. She was the picture of serenity, but Paul knew that in that mind of hers the wheels were turning.

Paul leaned forward, elbows on the table, knuckles idly rapping on the surface. He wondered how much he should tell his mother. It was doubtful she would approve of what he’d done with Stevens, she didn’t exactly approve of his attachment to Chani, but would she understand?

“He’s vitally important,” Paul began, “and will be an asset to us. I know this without doubt.”

“So you have already stated,” Jessica said. “I do not doubt the legitimacy of your visions, Paul. That doesn’t explain why it took you longer to get back than necessary. What happened out there?” 

“The sandstorm, the spice blow, many things slowed down our progress,” Paul said but was cut off.

“Paul!” Jessica interrupted, clearly running out of patience with Paul’s subterfuge.

“I slept with him!” Paul shot back, frustrated and irrationally angry suddenly.

Jessica remained still and unflappable in her chair, her expression quite unreadable. “Is that all?’

Paul looked away from his mother. Her cold stare was unbearable. _Is that all?_ he thought bitterly, _It’s everything._ Not able to remain still any longer, Paul stood and paced in front of the table visibly resentful. 

Tharthar, Stilgar’s wife, entered carrying a tray of spiced coffee and dried figs and nuts. She set it on the table. The tension between Jessica and Paul was palpable. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on Paul’s shoulder when he neared her. “It’s good to have you home, Muad’Dib,” she said.

Paul softened his demeanor considerably as he looked at the woman. “Thank you, Tharthar, it’s good to be home.”

Tharthar smiled in return. She turned to Jessica and made a courteous bow. “Reverend Mother,” she said quietly before leaving the hall. She would definitely have to tell Stilgar to stay out of there a while longer.

After a few silent moments, Paul turned back to Jessica. He would tell her. Even if she didn’t like it or approved, she would hear him. “I had visions of him as I had visions of Chani. When I first saw him on that rock outcrop, I felt like I already knew him. There’s a connection. Something drew us together. I don’t believe it actually has anything to do with how he fits into our plans, but it means something, Mother.”

Jessica listened to Paul, not without compassion for him. She had so much compassion for him, in fact, even if it wasn’t always apparent. There was so much more she felt for him, as well. She feared for her son. She had feared for him nearly his entire life. He had not been the child she had been charged with having for the Bene Gesserit breeding program. He was the child she had for her beloved duke. That alone placed him in great peril from her order. Here, on Arrakis, there had been nothing but danger for him from the moment they arrived. And there would so much more coming his way. She wished with her whole heart that she could shield him from it no matter the cost to herself. But that was impossible. He was a man now. He was more than a man. She could aid him, and she would; but she could not protect him or do for him the things he would have to do for himself. It pained her that he would complicate his life further with such entanglements. Paul’s greatest strength and his greatest weakness were one in the same; his heart. As accomplished as she was, Jessica couldn’t do anything to harden his heart. She wasn’t entirely certain she’d want to, either. 

“Paul, my son,” Jessica said gently. She rose from her seat, made her way around the table and stood before Paul. He was so tall now. She placed her hands on either side of his face and looked at him with kinder eyes. “Are you in love with him?”

Feeling more self-conscious that he probably had his entire life, Paul wanted nothing more than to flee this situation. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t flee anything anymore. Besides, there was a part of him that still longed for his mother’s reassurance and was eased by her tenderness. He nodded his head, but did not meet her eyes. “Yes… I think, perhaps… yes.” It nearly took his breath away to admit this out loud.

“And Chani, you love her still?”

“Of course,” Paul answered without hesitation.

Jessica tilted Paul’s head until he did look at her. There was such sincerity in his eyes but also the uncertainty of youth. Complications. Her son was mired in them. She nodded her head once and released him. She took a step back from him, one hand over the other at her waist. “If Stilgar takes up your request, then he must present the case before the tribe. You remember how it was with us. He will need the Reverend Mother’s support if he has any chance of success. I will meet with this Sardaukar and take the measure of him for myself.”

****

After taking his backpack, Larus and Ishmael escorted Stevens through a series of darkened alleyways. It seemed to him the path they took was meant to disorient him, muddle his sense of direction. It was a clever tactic. He did try to note things of interest and take some mental markers of the surroundings. They led him to a moisture sealed door. Larus, whom he recognized, unsealed and opened the door. 

“In you go,” Larus said and motioned with his head. 

Stevens complied, ducking his head on the way in as not to hit the top of the doorway. This room was not like any cell he’d ever seen before. There were cushioned seats and a table. A bed was tucked into a sleeping nook on the far wall. There were tapestries on the walls much like the ones in the sleeping chambers in the Cave of Ridges. Rugs covered the otherwise cold, hard floor here as well. He turned around, looking perplexed.

Larus met Stevens' gaze with amusement. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything. In other words, don’t try getting out.” He tapped the lasgun at his hip, winked at the confused-looking soldier and closed the door, leaving Stevens on his own inside.

Stevens couldn’t decide if he liked that one or if he just wanted to punch him in the face. He walked further into the room, exploring and examining it. The room was windowless and there was no other way out of it except the door he’d come in through. He noted the forced air vent in the ceiling. Certainly too small for anyone to get through. He found a pitcher filled with water and a basin, clearly meant for washing up. There was even a privy in another semi-secluded alcove. 

Stevens took a seat on one of the cushioned chairs, quite astonished and amazed that this was his ‘cell’. He wondered how it was going with Paul. Was he in hot debate over bringing Stevens here? Was he with the girl, Chani? She seemed to have been so pleased and relieved to be with Paul again. Was Paul that happy as well? He had to be. Perhaps, Paul had just gone to bed and was fast asleep. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, Stevens thought as he eyed the bed. He huffed out a breath and removed his stillgloves and boots. 

There was a knock at the door, then it opened. Stevens stood up immediately. Chani and that other woman that had come out to greet Paul entered the room. The woman carried a platter and Chani a bundle.

It was the woman who spoke first. “Here’s some food, in case you’re hungry,” she said as she set the platter on the table. She looked him up and down again, eyes sharp and appraising. “Get out of that stillsuit.”

“What?” Stevens asked, eyebrows rising to his hairline.

Harah laughed lightly. “You can drain and clean it yourself if you prefer.” She looked at Chani. “We got clothes for you; though I’m not sure about the fit,” she said with a glint in her eye.

“Oh,” Stevens said sheepishly. Chani set the bundle of clothes down on the table and backed up again. He noted that her demeanor had not changed from all those days ago when they’d first met. “Um, could I ask you something?” he said, addressing the other woman.

Harah stood, one hip cocked in haughty expectation and nodded her head slowly, almost coquettishly.

Stevens tried to ignore that. “What kind of a cell is this? I mean,” he gestured broadly around the room. 

Harah looked at Chani as if looking for assistance understanding the question. She got nothing. 

“We don’t have cells here,” Harah answered simply.

“We don’t keep prisoners,” Chani interrupted. “We kill them.”

Harah rolled her eyes with restrained agitation. “While that is true, no one is killing anyone today. We don’t keep prisoners in the sietch so we have no need for cells. This is just a room no one was using.”

Stevens nodded. “I see.” He looked around for a private space in which he could undress but there really wasn’t one. “Do you mind turning around while I…”

“If you think I’m turning my back on you,” Chani cut him off, “then you must think me a fool.”

Stevens could have laughed at that if he hadn’t already been the recipient of the girl’s ire. He turned around instead and started getting out of the stillsuit. 

Harah did turn around as well because that much man on display was more than she could handle in the wee hours of the morning.

Chani kept her place, but did divert her eyes as more of Stevens’ body was revealed. She didn’t like him on principle, but she wasn’t immune to a well put together body. 

Stevens dressed in the Fremen clothes provided, a simple dark blue tunic and sirwal. The tunic was a bit tight around the chest and sleeves on the tunic didn’t exactly reach all the way to his wrists. The sirwal by design was baggy and a better fit, but the ankle cuffs were well above his ankles. It would have to do. He put on the provided leather slippers, which were also too small for his feet, then handed his stillsuit to Chani.

Harah turned around again and regarded Stevens with kinder eyes. “Eat something and get some rest. Looks like you need it.”

****

Some time after the women left, there was another knock on the door. This time there was a pause and no one entered right away. Stevens blinked, made a noncommittal gesture with his hands and said, “Come in.”

The door opened and another woman entered the room. This woman was not like the others. By her bearing and her clothing, Stevens understood this woman was of high status in this community. A light dark veil was pulled down over her face so he was not able to get a clear look at her features, except that she was tall and slender and carried herself gracefully and with the tenacity of authority.

“Sgt. Stevens,” the woman said in a clear voice, “I see you’ve been attended. Good. Would you sit with me?” She moved to one of the cushioned chairs and gestured for him to take the other.

Baffled by this new visitor but opting to remain silent for now, Stevens moved to the offered chair. He waited for the woman to sit first then took a seat himself.

The woman lifted her veil and draped it over the back of her headdress. She was in her prime and rather beautiful. Pale of skin, her face was soft but with pronounced angular features around the cheeks and jaw, her eyes not yet fully blue within blue but getting there. Stevens had seen eyes like that recently and up close.

“Lady Jessica?” he asked in a bit of a hesitant tone.

Jessica smiled slightly crooked (a smile Stevens also knew well by now) and nodded once. “Although, around here they refer to me as Reverend Mother. It has been awhile since I’ve spoken to another outworlder. You may refer to me in the old form, if you wish.” There was a brief pause as Jessica gathered her thoughts. “Paul made quite the impassioned and eloquent case for you with the Naib of this sietch, Stilgar. You’ve met him. He asked that you be allowed to remain here, even join the sietch. That’s an enormous request to make. If I am to lend my support to this cause, I thought you and I should have a chat first. If that’s alright with you.”

It came as a relief that Paul was true to his word and doing as he said he’d do. Stevens really had to wonder, though, just how much Paul had told them. It made him uncomfortable for some odd reason. He rubbed his palms on the coarse fabric of the sirwal and replied, “Of course. I’m not in a position to deny you.”

"There are things I must know that you may not want to divulge. We are pressed for time, however. So I do apologize for this and hope that it will not sour our dealings moving forward." Jessica paused for a second leaving Stevens rather confused as to what she meant to do. When she spoke again, the timbre and tone of her voice had changed and her words bypassed all of Stevens' defenses. "You are safe here Sgt. Stevens. You have nothing to fear. You will sit still throughout. I will ask you a series of questions and you will answer them honestly because you want to be honest with me. Do you agree?"

Stevens' heart was racing suddenly and his breathing came in short quick bursts. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew she was doing something to him but had no idea what or how to defend himself from it. He was a fighter, however, and resistance to attack was in his nature.

Jessica tilted her head slightly to the side as she watched the emotions play out in Stevens’ eyes. She had no doubt he would succumb to her skills, but actually had not expected resistance from a simple soldier. She began to understand why Paul liked him. She focused her mind more intensely when she spoke next. “Please relax. You’re safe. Will you tell me what I need to know?”

It was useless to resist. Stevens slumped back in the chair and nodded his head feebly. “Yes.”

“Good,” Jessica continued using the Voice, “What was the nature of your mission?”

Stevens blinked several times. His mind was a clutter of conflicting thoughts but the truth made its way forward despite his inability to think clearly. “We got reports of Fremen rebels hiding out in this sietch. That the so-called ‘Muad’Dib’ may be among them. We didn’t know who he was or if he was even real, but we had orders to raid and put down any resistance.”

Jessica considered his answer before continuing the interrogation with more pointed questions. “Were you charged with hunting down my son, Paul?”

“No.”

“Does anyone know or suspect Paul and I are alive?” Jessica pressed on.

“I don’t think so. Everyone believes the two of you died in the desert.”

“Are you loyal to the Padishah Emperor?”

Stevens’ answer was not immediate. When it finally came, it was halting and unsure. “Umm… yes…” 

Jessica noted the hesitation in Stevens’ tone. Curious. She continued the interrogation. “Do you plan to betray Paul?”

“No.” Stevens answered quickly.

“Why not?” 

“I...I don’t want him to get hurt.” Stevens felt a stabbing pain in his head but it wasn’t physical in nature.

“You can not serve two masters. Either you are loyal to the Emperor or to Paul. Which one is it?” Jessica pushed.

“I-I don’t know.” 

More hesitation and resistance this time. Jessica felt she was losing him and that she couldn’t allow. “Why would you betray your oath to the Emperor?”

Stevens shook his head stiffly. “I… I don’t know. I’m not. I…”

Jessica projected her will fiercely at Stevens. Her power unfurling and seemingly electrifying the distance between them. “You do know. Tell me.”

“I don’t think it’s right, what we’re doing here. We shouldn’t be here.” The soldier struggled through each answer now. His voice tight with tension.

“That’s not a reason to break your oath.”

“I-I like Paul. I wouldn’t betray him.”

“You’re a traitor then.”

“No!” Stevens shouted, desperate for this to end.

Stevens was visibly shaking and beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Jessica had no intention of breaking him and she believed she had enough information now to know how to best proceed. “Thank you Sgt. Stevens,” Jessica said in her normal voice, releasing him from her grasp. “I do appreciate your honesty. Get some sleep. It’ll do you good.” She stood and walked to the door, rapped a slim knuckle on it to be let out.

Stevens came back to himself as if he’d been slogging through mud. He had been holding on to the arms of the chair with a white knuckle grip and his eyes were wet with welled up tears. He had not known before why the Bene Gesserit witches were so resolutely feared. Now, he knew.

****

After he finished with Stilgar and his mother, Paul went straight to his yali. On the way, he wondered how Stevens was faring. In his attempt to make the case for allowing the soldier to stay with them, Paul had neglected to ask where they had put him. A terrible oversight he hoped to rectify soon. He would ask Chani. She had to know.

As soon as he was through the front door of his yali, he was besieged by two small boys. Harah’s sons, whom Paul had inherited as well, Kaleff and Orlop had grown fond of Paul as their guardian. Kaleff, the bigger boy, jumped on Paul wrapping his arms around his neck. Orlop clung to the young man’s waist after crashing into him.

“Muad’Dib!” Both boys yelled in unison.

“Oooof!” Paul exhaled before laughing. “Shouldn’t you two be sleeping?!” he said good naturedly. 

“Yes, they should be,” Harah answered as she rose from her seat. “But they heard you were back and willfully disobeyed their mother.”

“Oh well, we can’t have that,” Paul said as he struggled to move further into the room with two Fremen children clinging to him.

“No!” Orlop screamed. “We’ve been good. Really. We just want to know what happened.”

“Yes,” Kaleff joined in, “Did you kill many men? Tell us!”

Paul shook his head and laughed. “It’s either too early or too late for tales of blood. Go back to bed and we’ll talk tomorrow. Go on.”

“You heard him, wild children. Come, come. Back to bed. Leave Muad’Dib alone,” Harah ordered as she herded the kids off Paul and back to their room. Before joining them, Harah turned to look back at Paul. “She’s waiting for you,” she said with a secretive smile, then disappeared into her room.

Paul put his backpack down and went into his own bedroom. He found Chani sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up when he came in. He smiled warmly at her and crossed the distance between them. She immediately stood and went eagerly into the offered embrace. Paul held her tight, feeling her deceptively delicate body under the thin gown. 

“I worried so much, Usul,” Chani said quietly against his shoulder. 

It bothered him that she worried, but there was nothing to be done about it. “Sihaya, there is so much coming our way, this little excursion is nothing in comparison.”

Chani sighed and picked up her head to look at him. He looked tired and rundown. She wished to all the ancestors that she could take his troubles away and comfort him. But of course she knew he was right about what was coming in the future. “Let’s get you out of this and into bed. You look like you’ll drop at any moment.”

Paul was glad she hadn’t asked him about the events of the past few days. Relaying it to Stilgar and his mother was enough for today. He knew if Stilgar called an assembly in the next few days, he’d have to do it all over again. He let Chani go and stepped back to take off his stillsuit.

Chani assisted, setting the pieces aside for later draining. She was glad Harah took charge of Stevens’ stillsuit; she wanted as little to do with that man as possible. Paul had his back to her but she noticed the bandage on his upper arm. “What happened here?” she asked, gesturing to the bandage.

Well, so much for not having to retell the story. “We ran into a scouting party of smugglers and had to fight them off. I took a cut.”

“Who dressed it?”

“Mike… umm… the Sardaukar.”

Chani raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? So he fulfilled his destiny then?”

Paul turned around, impatience on his face. “Chani, he’s not our enemy.”

The tell-tale bruise and other marks on Paul’s neck and shoulders stood out prominently against his pale skin. Chani stepped up to him and touched the love bite with her thumb. “Not _your_ enemy, I see,” she said.

Paul blinked. He had completely forgotten about the marks on his body. He stepped back to the mirror for a better look. The bruise was a dark pink/purple now and unmistakable for what it was. Not to mention the other small abrasions told a tale, as well. He grabbed the tunic Chani had set out for him - a long, tan fairly soft one for sleeping - and put it on. No need to have all that on display.

Paul swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sihaya, will you sit with me?” he asked and gestured to the bed. “There’s much I must tell you.”

The sun had come up by the time Paul was finished. He told Chani everything that had occurred since their parting. He told her how he felt about Stevens and what he thought it meant. Despite his substantial need for sleep, he left nothing out.

“Please know that no matter how this sounds, you deserve the truth and that’s why I’ve told you all of it,” he finished off.

Chani sat quietly listening to Paul’s story. She hardly interrupted him, perhaps only to ask a question or two for clarification. By the time he was done, she was looking down at her feet and wringing her fingers together tightly. She had no delusions about having Paul exclusively to herself forever. That was not the Fremen way, for one. Besides that, Jessica had told her early on that Paul couldn’t marry her. He needed to keep the option for alliances with other noble houses open, as Leto had done. Chani could never be sure if Jessica had meant to warn her for her own good or not. Still, none of those facts lessened the hurt she now felt. She’d given her whole heart to Paul and knew she’d never love anyone as much as she loved him. Even if it was a reality she had to accept, she hated the idea of sharing him with anyone else, in any capacity. 

Then there was the news she had to tell him. But how after this?

“Your mother asked Harah to come back to the Sietch of Morning with her and be nurse to Alia. Her year with you has been up for a few weeks now. She’s a free woman and able to choose her path. I think she wanted to discuss it with you first, but I’m certain she will go with Jessica. I-I think I will go as well and continue my training as Sayyadina.”

Paul was noticeably shocked. He reached for her hands, which were now nearly colorless with tension, and held them in his. “Sihaya, you’re leaving me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

Chani looked at him, sadness and hurt in her eyes. “No, Usul. Not as such. You are my life and I will always stand beside you. I think, though, I need some time to sort this out for myself.”

Paul was crushed. He bent down, then slipped off the bed onto his knees beside it, head on Chani’s lap. “I wish you wouldn’t go, but I won’t stop you.”

They remained like that for a long while. Paul held on to the woman he loved and Chani gently ran her fingers over his messy curls as the room seemed to grow colder around them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! More to come soon.  
> Check out my multi-fandom blog on Tumblr [@jaydenthorne](https://jaydenthorne.tumblr.com/) and Instagram @jaydenthorne73.


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